


Found

by gunmetal_ring



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28797396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunmetal_ring/pseuds/gunmetal_ring
Summary: Daryl finds a woman with a baby not far from his cabin.(AU where Sophia's an infant, and Daryl, Merle, Carol, and Sophia meet before the quarry.)
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted at Ninelives!

Daryl's in the middle of dressing the rabbit he snared when he hears it.

He immediately drops the rabbit and pulls the crossbow into position at the uneven snapping and rustling in the forest, not far from where he sits in front of the run-down cabin he and Merle found a few weeks back.

He inches towards the source, careful not to make a sound, and as he gets closer he hears a frantic whispering, overlapping with whimpers and short cries.

He can't quite believe what he hears - no walker he's seen has been capable of anything other than groaning or hoarse screams of hunger, and animals make noises wholly distinct from humans.

Because that's what it sounds like. A baby.

Daryl won't drop his guard - he may be uneducated, but he's not stupid - but he's a little more willing to ask-first-shoot-later when there's a baby involved.

He gets close enough to peer around a tree and watches a woman fumble to hold her knife while trying to breastfeed her baby.

Daryl is embarrassed for a split-second before he sees movement a few feet behind her, and he hisses, "Look out!" before shooting a bolt through a walker's rotted skull.

He starts to move toward it to grab his bolt, but the woman points her knife at him and snarls, "Don't you fucking move."

The way she's holding the knife gives him pause - it's as if she's going to throw it at him. She actually has pretty good form. She probably wouldn't hit him, but still. She knows how to defend herself.

He doesn't move, and they stand across from each other in silence, until the baby starts whimpering again.

"Shit," she mutters, and whispers, "Shh, shh, it's okay, sweetie, shh," without taking her eyes off Daryl.

"Where the fuck did you come from."

She doesn't answer, and he glares at her, not moving his bow from between her eyes.

"Answer me."

She glares back, but says, "I've been running for the last few hours."

"You alone?"

"Just me and her."

"Where's your camp?"

She narrows her eyes. "I _told_ you, I've been running for the last few hours. I don't _have_ a camp. It's just the two of us."

Judging by the single knife she carries and the bulging bag strapped across her back, she's probably telling the truth, but he doesn't lower his bow, and she doesn't lower her knife.

He motions to the backpack. "What you got in there?"

"Baby stuff."

"So you ain't gonna mind if I look through it."

"Actually, I _will_ mind, and you should think twice about robbing a mother and her _infant child_."

He scowls at the implication, but if she had any other weapon in there she'd probably be using it instead of some little pig sticker.

When they hear another snap of a twig and a low groan a few yards out, they whip their heads toward it, and Daryl says on impulse, "Look. If you ain't got a camp you can come with me."

It's dangerous traveling with an infant, especially without anyone else protecting the two them. He's a little impressed that they've made it this far, honestly.

She doesn't lower her knife, but she asks, "Who else is with you?"

"Just me and my brother."

The groans get closer, and he hesitates, but he's gotta get out of here, especially if the baby starts crying any louder. "Up to you if you wanna get you and your baby killed," he grunts, and he doesn't miss the flinch she's not quite able to conceal.

Her eyes narrow, but she lowers the knife, and the baby's whimpers turn to cries.

He jerks his head in the direction of the cabin and mumbles, "C'mon."

He doesn't turn back to see if she follows, but he hears leaves crunching behind him, so he leads the way.

\--

Merle's still passed out on the couch, which is fucking fantastic, because his rig is sitting on the table next to him and there's empty beer cans littering the floor.

He's used to the sight, always pushes down the resentment and anger it brings, but it's hardly a good way to introduce the woman.

Whatever. It's still safer for her here than out there. If a little meth scares her more than a forest full of walkers, she's too stupid to live.

He doesn't bother to distract her from the disaster in the living room, instead choosing to dump his crossbow at the table and finish what he started in the forest.

She takes a seat across from him, and she's started breastfeeding again, and Daryl is pointedly _not_ looking at her, trying to fight off the hint of heat he can feel on his cheeks anyway, and when he's stretching out the rabbit skin to dry, she clears her throat.

"So. That's your brother?"

Daryl grunts.

"I'm assuming he's okay, since you don't seem too worried about it."

"He's fine."

"Okay."

Another silence falls between them, and she's clearly got more to say, but Daryl's not interested in having a heart-to-heart right now.

He sets the skin outside to dry, and dunks his hands in the water barrel as a shitty excuse for a wash, and heads back inside.

She's got the baby on the table now, wrapping her up, and Daryl starts waxing his bow, more as an excuse to keep busy, because otherwise he'd just be sitting on his ass, and he doesn't want to invite conversation.

But she doesn't take the hint. "My name's Carol. This is Sophia."

Daryl grunts.

She waits, and when Daryl doesn't elaborate, she asks in an annoyed tone, "...do you and your brother have names?"

Daryl scoffs. "Daryl. That's Merle."

"Okay."

He jerks his chin at Sophia. "Your husband gonna come lookin' for you?" Hard to believe a man's gonna leave his wife and infant child out there in the middle of the apocalypse. Unless he already got eaten, or something.

Carol scoffs right back. "No." Yup. He got eaten.

But then she adds, "I made sure of it."

There's poison dripping from her words, though, and she doesn't look the least bit sad about it, and Daryl wonders if she killed him.

He doesn't say any of that - he's not about to tip his hand, give her any more reason to think he's wary of her, put her any more on guard or make her any more hostile than she already is. It seems like she's willing to do anything to protect her kid, and that might mean offing two redneck assholes with a decent setup and a weapons cache.

Not that she'd be strong enough to work the crossbow with her baby in her arms, mousy thing that she is, but there's no point in underestimating her. Especially when she was all too ready to try stabbing him to death outside.

The baby's sleeping in her arms now, looking like she's set in a straitjacket, and he's a little surprised that she's barely made a peep since they got back.

He gets up to check the boards on the windows and the back door, and now he's out of shit to do.

He doesn't want to sleep, even though he's tired as fuck from being out in the woods all day and staying up on watch all night while Merle was still bouncing off the fucking walls from shooting up that morning. He should wait for Merle to wake up so he's not just leaving this armed woman alone with their supplies while the two of them are passed out.

Fucking Merle. It was bad enough that he got fucked up as much as he did before the world went to shit, but really? Now?

"Why?"

He sneaks a look at her out of the corner of his eye - she's wary, and her knife is sitting on the table in front of her, and she's managed to get the kid in some weird wrap so it's laying against her chest.

Guess that makes using weapons a hell of a lot easier.

He flicks his eyes meaningfully towards the baby as his answer, and she rolls her eyes.

"I'm not an idiot. She makes everything a hundred times more dangerous. I have a hard time believing you're enough of a bleeding heart to overlook that."

He scoffs. Fuck her.

He knows how he looks; redneck asshole ready to live in a kill-or-be-killed world by any means necessary. Dangerous. Feral.

All that might be true, but it takes a special kind of redneck asshole to leave a _baby_ to die in the woods, for fuck's sake.

Merle might've done it. He's sure as shit gonna be pissed about it when he comes to, but what's done is done.

As if on cue, Merle starts to stir, groaning and stretching out on the couch.

"Nice to see you're still alive," Merle says, and right away, Daryl's blood starts boiling.

"Can't say the same for you, you dick," he snarls, and Merle's eyes narrow as he rolls over to to glare at Daryl straight in the eye.

"Careful, little brother," he warns, but he must catch a glimpse of Carol behind him and his eyebrows shoot up.

"Who the fuck is that?!"

"I'm Carol," she says, beating Daryl to the punch, and Daryl's torn between being impressed and irritated at the sharpness of her tone.

Predictably, there's a leer on Merle's face, and he says, "Damn, little brother, you finally managed to get some pussy, huh?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"'S just fine with me. Ain't that right, darlin'?"

"Shut _up_ , Merle," Daryl says, but then Merle realizes that she's got a baby strapped to her chest.

"What the fuck is _that_?!"

" _That_ is my daughter, Sophia," Carol says, and if Daryl thought she was sharp before, she's damn near lethal now.

"You fuckin' kiddin' me, boy?"

Daryl hates how much Merle sounds like their old man.

"There was a _baby_ , man, ain't about to leave it out there!"

"So you decided to bring it back here? Knowin' just how stupid that is?"

"No more stupid than gettin' high when the world's fuckin' dyin'," and god _fucking_ dammit, that was the worst thing to say when Merle's coming down, and Merle lunges at him.

Daryl blocks the punch and lands one of his own, but Merle kicks him, and it's about to get worse when a knife flies by them and sinks into the wall, point-first and quivering.

"Knock it off," she says, and Merle's eyes narrow.

"You best watch yourself, missy, takin' off my ear ain't gonna do you no favors here."

To Carol's credit, she narrows her eyes right back, and says, "Beating the shit out of each other won't do anyone any favors, either."

Daryl shoves Merle off of him, and yanks the knife out of the wall before Merle can get to it.

He hands it over to Carol and warns her, "Don't be stupid."

She takes it from him and doesn't say anything, but she shoves it into the holster around her waist anyway.

The baby's somehow managed to stay silent through all of this, and Daryl says, "House is boarded up, we in the middle of nowhere, and the kid's quiet. Ain't gonna be a problem."

"Yeah, you say that now, but sooner or later someone's gonna come knockin' for it."

"No, he won't," Carol interrupts, and she repeats herself. "I made sure of it."

Merle actually looks impressed for a fraction of a second, and Daryl knows that's when he's going to accept it.

He's right; Merle points a finger at Carol and snarls, "Any trouble comes along, and you gonna be out on your ass faster'n you can blink."

Carol just glares at him.

Daryl says, "Dead on my feet. Gotta get some shuteye. You good to stay up?"

Merle nods, and the leer comes back. "Sure thing. Give us plenty of time to get acquainted."

Daryl scoffs, and mutters, "Baby better still be here when I wake up."

"Whaddya take me for, little brother?"

Daryl takes him for the asshole that was ready to toss the kid out a minute ago, but he's about to fall asleep standing up and doesn't want to start anything, so he heads to the bedroom and shuts the door behind him, dropping his crossbow to the floor and collapsing onto the bed.

He's passed out as soon as his head hits the pillow.

\--

Daryl wakes a few hours later, and by the looks of it, it's late at night, and he walks back into the kitchen.

Merle's helping himself to a beer and a bag of potato chips, and Carol's washing dishes.

Carol jerks her head to the counter and says, "Some stew for you over there," and almost on cue Daryl's stomach rumbles.

He wolfs it down and grabs some pretzels and a beer, and Daryl nods at Carol.

"Can go sleep if you want."

She hesitates, but it's been a long day and she grabs her bag and heads to the bedroom without a word, shutting the door behind her.

Merle wiggles his eyebrows at Daryl. "Closest you come to sharin' a bed in a while, huh?"

"Shut up."

They drink in silence, and the baby whimpers, muffled behind the walls, and Merle groans.

"Knew the kid would make noise."

"Ain't no more noise then you hollerin' all damn day."

"You stupider'n you look if you think that kid ain't gonna be the death of us."

Daryl shrugs. "Told you. We in the middle of nowhere. Ain't seen nobody since we showed up. Walkers ain't come by too much neither. Can barely hear her through the wall, anyhow."

"I ain't one to press my luck, little brother. Ain't about to start now."

Merle's done nothing _but_ press his luck since the day he was born, but there's no point in saying that, so Daryl stays silent.

Merle belches and scratches his stomach. "Least she can cook."

He stands up and heads back to the living room, picking up a _Playboy_ from the floor and flopping down on the sofa.

Daryl scoffs. "You read that thing while she's around?"

"They got some damn interestin' articles, little brother. You'd know if you ever bothered to look."

Daryl rolls his eyes, and picks up his own magazine, leafing through the pictures of motorcycles and long-expired advertisements for half-off oil changes.

Daryl's no mechanic, but even he knows how to change the damn oil in his truck. Fuckin' idiots.

He tosses it to the side and wanders around the house, looking at the fancy china cabinets and crystal glasses on display. Why the fuck would anyone spend money on this shit?

Hell of a lot of good it did them in the end, anyway.

Daryl's never had patience for these kinds of people; fuckers blowing money on shit they don't need, never having to worry about a damn thing besides whether or not to buy another pony for their spoiled brat, or how often they should go to Disney World or some shit. Never had to work for anything in their whole damn lives.

Not that he was much better, drinking himself stupid most days and drifting along with Merle, doing whatever dumb shit he wanted to do. Wasting his life, just like Merle, just like his old man, just like half the people he knew growing up, saying good riddance to the other half when they OD'd or got themselves killed over some dumb shit that didn't matter.

He'll never know if any of them made it out alive. If his old man made it out alive.

He probably did, just out of spite, and Daryl's pissed at himself for giving a shit.

He spends the next few hours poking around, trying to find a way to pass the time, and he dreads the idea that this is the rest of his life. Stuck in some shitty cabin with Merle getting high every few days, hunting whatever animal wanders by, maintaining guns that they haven't needed and looking in the same dozen cabinets over and over again, hoping to find something new, and trying to avoid the wine cellar that Merle doesn't know about.

When they'd first gotten there, Daryl had gathered supplies while Merle had set up the traps, and there were a couple of locked doors he'd broken open, and one of them led to a basement with about a hundred bottles of fancy-ass wine.

It's a bad idea for Daryl to get lit while Merle's strung out, even if there's nobody around and no way for the dead to get in, but damn if being sober isn't boring as fuck.

Being sober lets him take stock of his life, too, and Daryl's never been too fond of introspection, diving into thoughts he rather not think about and memories he'd rather stay buried.

But he can't risk Merle finding anything more than the couple of cases of beer that were sitting in the garage, because then he'd run through it all even faster, and Daryl's not interested in dealing with Merle when the withdrawal eventually comes as it is. DTs would make everything a hundred times worse.

There's plenty that Daryl hates him for, but Daryl's never left him. Never will. Won't even think about it.

They're different in a lot of ways, that's for damn sure.

The baby starts crying, sharp and piercing, and he can hear Merle cuss a blue streak from the living room.

"Fuckin' _knew_ the goddamn kid would start this shit, fuckin' screamin' like it's on fire, fuckin' Christ," and Daryl heads over before Merle can barge into the bedroom.

"Babies do that shit, Merle. Carol's gonna deal with it."

Sure enough, Sophia's cries quiet down, and Merle peeks between the boards of the window behind him.

"Go check the door, dumbass. Make sure nobody's comin'."

Daryl checks the door, and the rest of the windows too, for good measure, but there's nothing. No walkers, no people, absolutely nothing, because they're in the middle of fucking _nowhere_ and the only reason Carol's here is because _he_ found _her_.

The bedroom door creaks open, and Sophia's strapped to Carol's chest again, and she catches Daryl's eye.

"Sorry," she mutters, but he shrugs.

"She's a baby. Babies cry."

"They sure do," Merle calls from the living room, and Carol purses her lips.

Thank fuck she chooses not to press it, and instead asks, "So what's the plan?"

Daryl blinks. "Whaddya mean?"

"I mean, what's the _plan_? Are the two of you going to stay locked up in this cabin forever?"

Daryl's suddenly interested in his fingernails, and Merle answers for him.

"We got four walls, a roof, and a forest full of food, darlin'. Ain't no reason to leave."

"You'll get sick if you only eat meat forever, assuming that those things won't eat it all first, and eventually you'll run out of gas and arrows or whatever else you have. Do you know how to fix a house with water damage or a cracked foundation or something when this one eventually starts to break down? Do you have any kind of medical care if one of you gets sick or hurt? What about when you've cleared all the stores or houses within a hundred miles? Not that I've seen too many around here anyway."

Merle glares at her. "Ain't you a regular Einstein."

"I wouldn't go that far, Merle, but it's common sense. Two people can't make it on their own forever. Your supplies won't last forever."

Daryl can hear the underlying _especially if one of you is on drugs_ , and judging by the look on Merle's face, he heard it too.

"Careful what you say, missy. Ain't nothin' but my good intentions lettin' you live here."

She's right, though. Daryl hates that she's right. Hell, it's what he's been trying not to think about since they got here. "You got a better idea?"

"Yeah. Maybe we can try to find another group. There has to be other people out there. More people means more supplies, more protection. More of a chance."

Merle's eyes had lit up as soon as she said _more supplies_ , and Daryl knows exactly what that means.

So he starts laying on the charm real thick. "Ain't a bad idea, darlin'. You got any idea where to look?"

Carol shakes her head. "No, it's just been us since the beginning. But maybe if we get closer to the city we'll have a better shot."

Merle shoots Daryl a meaningful glance. "You in, little brother?"

Daryl simply shrugs, but it seems like that's good enough for Merle. "Well alright, then. C'mon, we burning daylight."

Before Daryl knows it, the cabin's cleared out, their bags are stuffed full, and the bed of the truck won't fit the bike.

Merle shrugs. "Fuck it. I'll just ride in front of you."

That's probably for the best, anyway; the cab is cramped as it is, and three people with a baby would be a tighter squeeze than Daryl would like.

So they pile in, and Merle leads them towards the city.

\--

Eventually, Sophia wakes up, and Carol unwraps her and unbuttons her shirt without preamble. Daryl stares straight ahead and tries to fight off the blush, but Carol sees it.

"Don't tell me you're one of _those_ men."

"Ain't nothin' 'sides tryin' to give you some privacy, damn."

He can almost _feel_ Carol rolling her eyes, and eventually Sophia finishes, and promptly pukes all over Carol's shoulder.

Daryl wrinkles his nose, but Carol doesn't seem too put off by it. She sits Sophia up in her lap and leaves the soiled rag just sitting there without a care in the world.

"Ain't you gonna do somethin' with that?"

"I can't exactly hold her up with one hand while I clean off the rag in a moving truck, Daryl."

Understandable, but Daryl doesn't really want baby puke smearing all over the back of the seat, so he asks, "Wanna stop?"

She shrugs. "If it really bothers you that much, sure."

He hits the horn, short and loud, and pulls off to the side of the highway, and waits until Merle begins to circle back around.

"Can take her while you do... whatever." He looks over at Carol and her tit's still hanging out, and he flushes bright red, and immediately ducks his head.

Mercifully, she doesn't comment on it, just hands Sophia to him, but he can _feel_ her rolling her eyes at him again. "Keep her upright, don't lay her down or anything. And hold her head."

He nods, hating himself for how hot his face still is, and sits Sophia up on his legs, sliding a hand behind her neck and watching as her eyes gaze off somewhere to the right of his head.

Daryl's never spent time around babies. He doesn't really know what to do. He's surprised at how good she smells, and finds himself thinking she's actually kind of cute.

Cute. What is he, a six-year-old girl? He can almost _hear_ Merle calling him Darylina.

He fucking hates that name.

Merle drives up to the window and shouts, "What the fuck we stoppin' for?" And when he realizes Daryl's holding Sophia, he smirks, and says, "Darylina's a mommy now, huh?"

"Shut the fuck up, Merle," Daryl mumbles.

"Well, lemme know whenever you get your big-boy balls back," and swerves behind the truck, doing donuts in the rearview mirror.

Dumbass.

Carol finishes doing whatever she's doing, and wordlessly beckons to Sophia, and Daryl hands her off.

He starts the truck again and shoves his middle finger out the window, and he can see Merle flip him off right back in the mirror, and they resume their journey.

\--

As they're passing through some suburb a little while later, Sophia starts making noise again, and almost immediately Daryl's hit with a disgusting smell.

"Aw, what the fuck?"

Carol glares at him. "It's poop, Daryl. Babies poop."

"Jesus fuck, that fuckin' _reeks_ , get rid of it."

"Okay, well, you'll have to pull over again, Daryl."

He hits the horn, and doesn't bother to make sure Merle heard before pulling over and hopping out of the truck.

Merle didn't hear, by the looks of it, so Daryl reaches back in and honks the horn again, holding it down longer, and Sophia starts crying.

"Can you shut her up?"

"She's a _baby_ , Daryl, you blaring the horn like that scared her."

"Whatever." Thankfully, Merle heard it, and speeds back over.

Daryl figures this is good a time as any to smoke, so he lights up and Merle idles next to him.

"Why the fuck we stoppin' _again_? Thought we was tryin' to get outta town?"

Daryl jerks his head in Carol's direction. "Baby shit itself."

Merle grimaces. "Glad I ain't gotta be around for that." He cuts the engine and lights up next to Daryl.

Sophia's still crying, though, and Merle shouts across the cab of the truck. "Shut her the fuck up!"

"Stop _yelling_ , Merle!" Carol shoots back.

"Don't you yell at me, you bitch, you the one makin' all the goddamn noise!"

" _Merle_!" Daryl hisses. "Shut the fuck up, you hear that?"

Sure enough, there's a faint groaning nearby, and Merle yanks out his pistol from its holster while Daryl stubs out his cigarette and reaches into the cab of the truck for his crossbow.

"Don't shoot that thing if you don't gotta," Daryl warns, and Merle rolls his eyes.

"Then you best get her to hurry the fuck up, get us the fuck outta here."

Daryl glares at him, but crosses the front of the truck next to Carol, and there's a walker ambling up the street about a hundred yards off.

Carol glances behind her, and whispers, "Can you get it?"

"Too far away, don't wanna waste the bolt."

Carol pulls Sophia's clothes back on and climbs back into the cab of the truck. "C'mon, let's go."

Daryl casts a glance around, and it seems like only one of them's coming. "Merle!"

"What?"

"What you think about stoppin' here for the night?"

Merle walks over and looks across the street. "You too chickenshit to get that one?"

It's gotten closer, so he shoots and the bolt nails it right above the eye. Damn.

Merle smirks. "Missed."

"Shut up. We should stop for the night. Gonna get dark soon, load up on supplies."

Merle considers it, checking out the nearby houses. "Nice as shit around here, bet they got plenty of shit stocked up."

Daryl nods, and jerks his chin at the house on the corner. "Good visibility there, let's go."

They pull into the driveway, and Daryl hops out and yanks the bolt from the walker's skull. He points at Carol. "You stay there, keep the kid quiet. Me'n Merle can clear out the house. Hit the horn if there's trouble."

She nods, and he and Merle head in.

There's only two walkers, and Daryl takes one out while Merle stabs the other, and the rest of the rooms are clear. Daryl heads back over to Carol and slings her bag over his shoulder, locking the door behind her when she walks in.

She's got that weird wrap around Sophia again, and Daryl asks, "You sure she can breathe like that?"

Carol quirks her lips. "Yes, Daryl, I'm sure."

He scowls. He was just _asking_.

The three of them check out the rooms - there's not nearly as much as Daryl had wanted, but Merle finds some weed in what looks like a teenager's bedroom, and waves a strip of condoms he'd found in Daryl's face. "You need any of these?"

Daryl scowls again. "Shut the fuck up."

"Yeah, yeah, you right. Dumb question. You ain't never needed any of these."

"Shut _up_ , Merle," he snaps, and Merle just snickers to himself.

Dick.

They start covering up the windows, and when they feast on two cans of tuna and a stale bag of Chex Mix for dinner, Sophia starts whimpering again.

Merle points to the Chex Mix. "She can't have none of mine."

Carol rolls her eyes. "She's two months old, Merle, she can't have _anything_ yet."

Merle just glares at her, but when she starts unbuttoning her shirt he recoils.

"Damn, woman, you gonna do that shit right out in the open?"

She focuses on her shirt and just says, "Grow up, Merle. It's what they're for."

Merle gets up from the table, disgustedly grumbling about losing his appetite, and when Daryl doesn't follow and keep eating, he sneers, "You like watchin' or some shit, perv?"

"Shut the fuck _up_ , Merle," Daryl snarls, but he feels his face turn red. He pointedly does _not_ look at Carol.

It's not that he _likes_ watching, or some creepy shit like that. He just doesn't fucking care. He's used to it by now. Anyway, Carol's right, it's what they're _for_ , and besides, he's hungry.

But he takes the rest of his tuna and Chex Mix into the living room with Merle, and Merle smokes up.

"You gonna do that shit when the baby's right there?"

Merle scoffs. "The fuck's gotten into you with this kid?"

"It's a _baby_ , Merle, ain't got nobody lookin' after it 'cept Carol."

"It ain't your fuckin' _problem_ , little brother, so why the fuck you gettin' all bent outta shape over it?"

Daryl just scowls and doesn't bother answering, and Merle keeps smoking.

He starts cleaning the dirt out from under his nails with his knife, and Carol walks into the room with Sophia in her arms.

"I can take first watch, if the two of you want."

Daryl's about to protest, but Merle says smoothly, "Why, thank you, darlin', that'd be much appreciated."

"Can one of you stay in the lower bedroom, though? If there's an issue I want to be able to get you up quickly."

Merle nods to Daryl. "He'd love to, wouldn't you?"

Daryl scowls at him, but grunts, "Sure."

Carol settles herself in front of the window and nods goodnight to them, and Merle heads upstairs. Daryl says, "Wake me up in a couple hours, gotta let Merle sleep off his high."

She just nods again, and Daryl goes to bed.

\--

A few hours later, Daryl jerks awake, and just barely restrains himself from swinging an arm at Carol.

"Hey, it's me. I'm tired, it's your turn."

"Yeah, yeah, okay."

He gets out of bed and as he's about to shut the door behind him, he asks, "Don't she need a crib or somethin'?"

Carol shrugs. "Not necessarily. She can sleep on the floor just fine, I've just been layering a few of my shirts underneath her so it doesn't hurt."

He just nods, and adds, "Lemme know if you need somethin'."

Carol's face softens, and she nods back, and Daryl walks to the living room for watch.

He doesn't bother waking Merle up until morning.

\--

"Nope, no fuckin' way."

"Why the fuck not?"

Daryl points to Carol. "'Cause she can't come with, and it ain't safe for her to just sit her ass in the house if we gonna be gone the whole time!"

"She sat in the truck yesterday, just do it again."

"Yeah, for a couple'a minutes, Merle, not all the livelong day."

Carol interrupts. "I'd rather stay here, it's hard to take care of Sophia in the cab."

Merle glares at her. "Beggars can't be choosers, darlin'."

"Ain't gonna just have her fiddlin' with the baby outdoors, Merle. What if a house is overrun? Or we break in when someone's home?"

"Then we take care of it."

There's a steely glint in Merle's eye that Daryl doesn't like. "We ain't gonna _take care_ of nothin' if we don't gotta, Merle."

The two of them are glowering at each other, and Carol says, "Why don't you just check out the one next door, there's nothing boarded up and it was empty all night. No lights or anything. If there's not a whole lot there, then we know most of these people probably went to a refugee camp or something."

Daryl doesn't like it, but Merle pipes up first. "Good. We'll do that. Darylina don't gotta worry his pretty little head about you."

Daryl scowls, but Merle's already walking out the door, and Daryl just glances at Carol. She's wrapping Sophia against her, and her knife is at her side.

"Look, just... be safe, alright? Don't answer the door or nothin' unless you hear me or Merle. If somethin' happens, just shout. Gonna leave the passenger door unlocked so you can get in and hit the horn if you need."

Carol nods, and he tries to fight the uneasy feeling in his gut as he follows Merle across the yard.

They break open the front door of the next house over, and as they're checking the bottom floor, Merle says, "You gonna pussy out when we find a group?"

"No."

Merle squints at him. "'Cause it seems like you pussied out just now. Ain't gonna work if you gonna be squeamish about takin' what we need."

"Ain't _squeamish_ , just ain't gonna fuckin' up and rob people when Carol's by herself. Ain't tryin' to get her killed if it goes sideways."

Merle holds Daryl's gaze for a beat too long, and says, "She ain't gonna be by herself when we get to a camp."

Daryl nods. "Yeah, I know. Gonna be different."

They head upstairs and both of the bedrooms are clear, and one of them is a nursery. There's not a ton left - a bassinet, a stray pacifier, and two dusty rags hidden on the top shelf of the closet, but it's better than nothing, and Daryl brings it all downstairs.

Merle's already collected some more weed and what looks like ecstasy from who knows where, a couple cans of pickled beets, and an empty water bottle.

Daryl stares at it. "This really it?"

Merle shrugs. "Guess they got the hell outta dodge."

Daryl scoffs and shakes his head. "Alright, well, then that's it, just like we said. Head out." He dumps their findings into the bassinet and Merle grabs the weed and the X first.

"Ain't about to let you have all the fun."

Daryl rolls his eyes as Merle stuffs them into his pockets, but then there's a loud honk, and Daryl tucks the bassinet under his arm and bolts for the door, motioning for Merle to go first.

There's a handful of walkers converging around the truck, and Merle starts shooting. Daryl shoots, "Get closer, asshole, you're gonna miss and hit Carol!"

"Shut the fuck up! Drop the baby shit and _move_!"

Daryl curses and drops the bassinet on the lawn, swinging the crossbow around from his back and running towards the truck.

A couple of them drop, but Merle's out of ammo, and Daryl can't reload his bow fast enough, so he shouts, "I'll pull 'em out, get your bike!"

He whistles, sharp and loud, and gets their attention, banging on a drainpipe hanging from the house and shouting. They start to amble over towards him, groaning and hissing louder and louder, and when Daryl runs into the backyard to pull them away from the street, there's more pouring out of the woods.

Fuck.

He casts a glance around and sees a trellis weaving up the back of the house, covered in ivy and flowers, and he hopes it's sturdy enough to hold his weight.

He runs over and starts climbing, and it starts creaking, and when he's almost at the roof the plank beneath his foot snaps and he's dangling from the roof by his fingertips.

 _Fuck_.

He can't jump down - there's about twenty of them gnashing their teeth and reaching for them, and the roof is too steep for him to just pull himself up, so he starts swinging from side to side, hoping that he can hook a leg up.

He catches, and slips, and catches his leg again and _pushes_ , but the gutter lining the top of the house breaks and slices into his calf.

" _Shit_ , fuck," he gasps, but he's up. Bleeding like hell, but he's up.

He hobbles over to the front of the roof, and there's no more walkers in the street, but Merle's nowhere to be seen and he can only hope he got to the bike and rode off.

Carol's motioning for him to hurry up from the cab, and he scoots down as far as he can to limit his jump, but when he lands on the ground pain shoots up his hurt leg and he bends his ankle wrong.

" _Fuck!_ "

He limps across the lawn, scooping up the bassinet, and yanks open the passenger side door. Carol scoots over to the driver's side and he shoves the bassinet into the footwell, hauling himself up and slamming the door behind him. "Go! Go! What the fuck are you waiting for?"

" _You_ have the keys, asshole, give them to me!"

 _Fuck_ , right. He digs around in his pocket, and notices the walkers are coming back around the house, and shoves them at her. "Go!"

"Hold Sophia for me," she snaps, and she slips Sophia into his arms and floods the engine.

"Don't -"

"I _know_ , Daryl, shut the fuck up," and tries again, and this time it works, and she hits the gas.

"Did you see Merle?"

"Yeah, he drove off down the street, turned at the first left, but I don't know about after that." She follows his path, and asks, "You don't think he ditched, right?"

"Fuck no," he says, but his response is on autopilot; he's left before, what's to stop him from leaving now?

But as he's thinking this, he sees Merle in the rearview mirror, and points him out. "Look, there he is."

"Good."

Merle rides up alongside them, sees Daryl's sitting in the cab, and speeds up in front of them, and they're back on track to the city.

\--

Not long after, Sophia shits herself again, and Daryl has to keep himself from retching.

"Jesus _Christ_ , kid, what the fuck you eatin'?"

"You _know_ what she's eating, Daryl," Carol responds, and when Daryl shoots a glare at her she's smirking.

"Whatever, fuckin' killin' me over here," he mumbles, and she sighs.

"Alright, well, we're going to have to stop again if you want me to change her."

"Yeah, do it."

She taps the horn, and Merle swings around, and Carol slides out of the cab.

Daryl hands her Sophia and hops out the other side, but as soon as he hits the pavement his leg is screaming, and he buckles.

"Ow, _fuck_ , goddammit," he snarls, and Carol calls from the other side of the truck.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, fine, just hurry up."

Merle pulls up, and when he notices Carol bent halfway in the truck, he sniffs the air and grimaces. "You one unlucky sonofabitch, you know that?"

Daryl scoffs, and tries to shake out his leg without Merle noticing.

But of course Merle notices, and he smirks. "You get a boo-boo?"

"Shut the fuck up."

He hears Carol curse from the other side of the truck. "Fuck."

He whips his head around. "What's up?"

"Out of clean diapers, haven't had the chance to wash the old ones yet."

"Hang on a sec."

Daryl yanks out the rag from the bassinet and snaps it across the truck a few times to shake out the dust, and says, "Can you use this?"

She peers around Sophia and nods. "Yeah, thanks."

He hands it to her, and Merle smirks again. "Ain't you domestic."

"You ever gonna shut the fuck up?"

Merle makes a kissy face and rolls his bike around to the bed. "Gonna fill up if we gonna be here."

Daryl just shrugs, and hauls himself back up into the truck. His ankle fucking _hurts_.

Carol's rebuttoning Sophia's onesie, and shoves a trash bag back into her backpack.

"How you gonna clean that?"

She shrugs. "Whenever we find a creek, or something. I don't know." She picks up Sophia, and asks, "Do you want me to drive?"

"Don't care," he says, but there's no way he can drive with his leg like this, and she knows it. So she rolls her eyes and wordlessly hands him Sophia, jumping up into the driver's seat and shutting the door behind her.

Merle starts the bike and pulls up to the window. "Y'all ready?"

"Yup. But if we see a lake or somethin' we gotta stop, Carol's gotta wash Sophia's shit."

Merle shakes his head and laughs with disbelief. "Whatever you want, Darylina," and speeds off.

Dick.

Carol starts the truck and drives after him, and Sophia starts whimpering.

Carol glances at the bag sitting between them. "There's a pacifier in the front pocket, I don't -" and as she takes a hand off the wheel to rummage through it, the truck jerks to the side and Sophia's cries grow louder.

"I got it, I got it, don't go gettin' us into an accident," Daryl mutters, and he shifts Sophia into his other arm and zips open the pocket Carol was searching.

A pacifier falls onto the seat, along with an MRE, a couple nibs of vodka, and a bunch of gun parts and spare ammo.

Daryl stares at Carol and she's very carefully looking ahead.

"Thought you said you only had baby shit in here?"

"Yeah, I did say that."

Daryl scoffs. "You feedin' a two-month-old some vacuum-sealed chili?"

" _No_ , Daryl, don't be an asshole."

"What the fuck else you hidin' in here? Fuckin' rope and duct tape too? Plannin' on takin' me out soon as I look the other way?"

He ignores the tiny voice that reminds him of the plan to rob whatever camp they find blind, and dump Carol and her baby with a bunch of strangers.

"Come _on_ , you didn't actually think that I was running around with a bunch of old rags and a knife, did you?"

"Sure as shit didn't think you were fuckin' holdin' out on us, Christ."

She sets her jaw. "My husband was one of those doomsday preppers, and he already ate most of them, there's only a few left, and I'm of the opinion that they should be absolute last-resort meals to keep from literally starving. Sorry if I wasn't interested in saving the Chex Mix instead."

"Don't talk like I'm a fuckin' dumbass."

"Then don't act like I'm some criminal mastermind! I've got a baby, for fuck's sake. I'm not going to blindly trust two men that I don't know with everything I have. There are _plenty_ of people who wouldn't think twice about leaving a baby to die, I -" and she bites off the rest of her words, swallowing hard and blinking fast.

In that moment, Daryl's willing to bet the truck that her husband was one of those.

It's one thing for Merle to walk away. It's another thing for a father to leave his own flesh-and-blood to die.

Carol clears her throat. "Anyway. I didn't know what kind of men you two were, and I'm glad that you are who you are, and I'm not going to apologize for it."

He gets it, but that doesn't stop him from being pissed about it.

Sophia's just started crying louder and louder, so he fumbles for the pacifier and pops it in her mouth.

She starts sucking on it right away, and she settles into his arms, twitching her fists around, and when he runs a finger over one to soothe her, she grabs onto it and her eyes flutter shut.

He feels the corners of his mouth turn up, and he tries to bite it back down. She's really cute.

He ignores Carol's eyes on him, and instead just listens to Sophia snuffle as the truck speeds along.

\--

They pull onto the highway, only fifty miles pr so from Atlanta, and as they drive along he notices they're the only people on the road.

"Where the hell is everyone?"

Carol shrugs. "I don't know, it's kind of eerie."

He furrows his brows, and soon they see signs for a refugee camp, and Merle leads them on.

They wind closer to the heart of the city, and Daryl notices with a pit in his stomach that the buildings look blackened and decrepit, and the main exit's traffic snarl gets more and more concerning.

"Hey, you see that?"

The cars on the exit ramp are pulled up within a foot of each other, no regard for lanes or guardrails, and Carol nods.

"Yeah."

"Hit the horn, pull over."

She does, and Merle circles back around.

As he pulls up to the window, he cuts the bike. "What's up? Kid shit herself again?"

Daryl scoffs. "No, dumbass. I got a bad feelin' about this. Don't feel right." He gestures to the cars, and adds, "Look at 'em. Like they was all desperate to get the hell out. Even though signs say refugee camps all over the city."

"Yeah..."

"Ain't right. And the city's lookin' all burnt out and shit." As he talks, he's convincing himself more and more, and he sees Merle's resolve waver, too. "No, we gotta go somewhere else. Look around."

To Daryl's surprise, Merle nods, and says, "Alright, yeah."

"Let's follow the river, people probably camped along it. Good source of water."

"Sure thing, little brother." Merle kicks his bike into gear and circles around, heading off toward the river, and Carol hesitates for a moment before following.

"What?"

Carol chuckles. "Nothing, I was just - for a moment, I was ready to wait until we could take an exit to head back, but nothing's stopping us from just... driving down the wrong side of the road."

Daryl huffs out a laugh too, and when Sophia stirs, he rubs his finger against her stomach, almost without realizing it, and she falls right back asleep.

"She's a good kid."

He's still looking at Sophia, but he can hear the smile in Carol's voice when she says, "Yeah, she is."


	2. Chapter 2

They drive along what looks like a bike path for a while, and there's a turn-off with a dirt road. Merle drives by it, though, and Carol asks, "You don't think there's something there?"

"Nah, there might be, but he's prob'ly tryin' to scope it out before rollin' up."

And Daryl's right, it seems; soon enough, there's a bridge with some cars blocked up on it, and not far behind it there's a sign for a hiking trail.

There's only a few cars, though, and it's a two-lane bridge, and while Merle weaves through the pile-up Carol stops the truck.

He circles back and pulls up to the window. "Gotta nudge a couple of 'em, but we can get through."

Daryl nods, and motions to Carol. "Hop out, get to the back of the bridge."

"Are you okay to drive?"

"Yeah, ankle's better." And it is, actually. A few hours and he's back in business. The bleeding's stopped, too.

"Okay." She hops out and he hands her Sophia, and she walks off.

Daryl slowly pushes through the traffic, and he's sure his fender isn't looking too pretty by the end of it, but eventually he makes it through to the other end, and Merle hops back on the bike.

Daryl whistles to Carol, waving for her to walk through, and she gestures to the cars.

Merle looks at him. "You gonna pussy out again?"

Daryl rolls his eyes and cuts the engine. Can't hurt.

He walks back to Carol and Sophia, Merle already rifling through the cars at the front, and says, "I'm gonna check 'em all before you go through 'em, just pile whatever into the middle of the road and we can bring it up. Too close to back through again."

"Are you sure you should be walking this much on your leg?"

" _Said_ I'm fine, don't need you houndin' me," he snaps, and she flinches, just barely covering it up.

Whatever.

Daryl walks around to the driver's seat of the nearest car, peering in and not finding anyone. Any _thing_.

It's locked, predictably, so he picks up a nearby rock and smashes the window open, and unlocks the rear doors and the trunk.

Still nobody - nothing - there, so he moves on to the next.

It's not until he reaches the fourth car that there's a walker in the driver's seat, and luckily the door's unlocked, so he stabs it in the head and keeps going.

He's only a few cars away from Merle when he pops open a rear door and there's a kid - what _used_ to be a kid - growling pitifully.

The window was cracked, but it clearly wasn't enough.

Daryl kills it, and carries it over to a car Merle's already cleared, dumping it into the trunk and slamming it shut.

"Already emptied that one."

"Yup."

Merle gives him a weird look, but mercifully stays silent.

Daryl starts searching everything he unlocked, pulling out whatever looks useful, and eventually Carol meets up with him.

"Hey, I've got a pile back there, but some of it's too heavy for me to carry."

"Okay. Merle!"

Merle heads back with Daryl, and when the last bit of loot has been retrieved, Merle hops back on his bike and drives up the hiking trail.

Daryl can't fit, though, so he just drives on the sidewalk next to the river until he can't see the bridge anymore, and cuts the engine.

Merle breaks through the edge of the forest not far from them, and beckons. "You gonna wanna see this."

It's not long before they happen upon a large rock quarry, and he freezes when he hears some far-off voices.

He can't make out what they're saying, exactly, but the tone sounds light enough, and when Carol hisses, "Do you hear that?" he whips his head around and holds up a finger to his lips.

He begins to creep forward, crossbow raised and ears straining to catch snippets of conversation, but Merle shoves him aside.

"We gonna get there next _week_ goin' slow as you, shit."

Merle cuts across the rocky hilltop, and rather than follow the sloping path downward, he drops from the ledge and saunters over to the group of cars blocking the entrance to the clearing.

Daryl rolls his eyes and jerks his head towards the path instead, not lowering his crossbow, and Carol follows him down.

They're about halfway down when someone shouts, " _Don't you fuckin'_ _move_!"

Daryl freezes and whips his head around, but nobody's in eyesight, and he realizes Merle managed to wander into this camp with a less-than-charming introduction.

Daryl motions to Carol to crouch down, and she does, cupping Sophia to her chest and they sneak over to the closest car, catching the tail end of Merle's piss-poor defense.

"...pointin' that thing at me? Shit, if I knew I'd be walkin' into an ambush I'd'a never bothered to offer my services!"

"And what services would those be, exactly?"

"Well, I suppose y'all gotta eat, don't'cha? No offense intended, but I can't say that any of y'all look much like the huntin' kind. Or fishin' kind, neither."

Daryl peeks around the edge of the car and sees a couple of guys aiming at Merle - clearly they've got shit perimeter watch if everybody's focused on Merle, and nobody's noticing Daryl and Carol twenty feet away.

"How the hell did you survive out here on your own? Huntin' only gets you so far."

Merle catches Daryl's eye across the path, and shoots him a sardonic smirk before Daryl can warn him off it.

"Ain't said I was all on my lonesome, did I? Got my brother and his little wifey to look out for. And they got a baby, too."

Goddammit.

Daryl exchanges a glance with Carol - if these guys weren't already suspicious of some random asshole walking up like he owned the place, they'll sure as hell be on guard for two other assholes sneaking into their camp, acting like there's something to hide.

Nice of him to throw in the wife-and-kid part, too, since now if they act like anything else, it's not a far reach for everyone at camp to assume the three - four - of them came here with less-than-honorable intentions.

But Merle's never been one to think further ahead than his own two feet, the stupid jackass, and now Daryl has to live with the consequences. Again.

So Daryl begrudgingly stands up, Carol and Sophia only a few feet behind him, and squints at the people now aiming their guns straight at them.

The main guy squints right back. "How old's your baby, man?"

Daryl doesn't like this asshole's tone. Condescending. Arrogant. Bet he was a cop or a lawyer or some fancy fucking dickhead before this all went down.

Carol says, "She's two months, almost three."

One of the other guys lowers his gun completely. "Oh, shit! Congratulations!"

Daryl scoffs, but Carol says brightly, "Wow, thanks! Yes, she's been a blessing."

That's more chipper than he's ever heard her, and he turns to catch her eye, and she's beaming right at them.

She seems genuine enough, but something tells him she's bullshitting them.

If she is, she's a hell of a lot smarter than Daryl thought she was. And she already seemed pretty damn smart.

Merle interrupts. "So since they's celebratin' a baby and all, and we got some _invaluable_ skills to offer you, might you be thinkin' we could mosey on over?"

Goddammit, he's such an asshole.

The fancy guy doesn't really seem to buy it, but everyone else looks like they're considering it, and eventually he steps to the side.

"Yeah, okay. I'm Shane, that's Morales, that's Glenn, and that's Jim."

Merle flashes them his sleaziest, most bullshitting grin, and says, "Thank you mightily. I'm Merle, little brother there is Daryl, she's Carol, and baby's Sophia."

Daryl glares at Merle, but Merle's carefully directing his charm at Shane, and says, "Where should we set up?"

Morales leads him across the camp, and Shane squints at Carol. "You don't have anythin' for your girl?"

Carol's eyes grow big and innocent. "Oh, we have a few things, but they're in a truck, and it looked like a tight squeeze in the woods!"

She sounds dumb as hell, simpering and ditzy, and Daryl's damn impressed.

Shane juts his chin towards the rest of the cars. "If you wanna pull it around, there's a dirt road a little ways off from the bridge that loops back around here. We cleared it out so enough cars could fit, just park behind the last one."

Carol beams at him again, and says, "Wow, thank you so much!" She turns to Daryl and says, "Honey, let's go get everything before Sophia wakes up."

Daryl's cheeks heat up, but he just clenches his jaw and walks down the path, ignoring Shane's stare, with Carol following closely behind.

\--

They make it back to the truck, and Carol says, "I can't believe Merle said that."

Daryl snorts. "Yeah, well, he thinks he's a real fuckin' charmer."

Carol rolls her eyes. "Yes, his whole stupid act was ridiculous, and if any of these people have any common sense they'll see through it. But I was talking him turning us into some family unit."

That stings more than Daryl had expected.

It's not like he _wants_ to be Carol's husband, or Sophia's dad; he barely knows them, and he generally doesn't like people, and he's certainly not interested in getting a wife and kid. Never been in his plan.

But the way she says it, it's like he's dogshit waiting to be scraped off her heel. Like he's the same redneck asshole that she thought he was at the beginning, waiting to leave her and her baby to die in the woods, and she's disgusted by him.

He again ignores the voice that reminds him that yes, actually, he and Merle _are_ planning on leaving them for dead after robbing the camp blind.

"Yeah, well, sorry I ain't no Prince Charmin' or some shit. Gonna have to live with it."

He yanks open the driver's door and slams it behind him, snapping, "You gettin' in or what."

Carol hesitates for a moment, but walks around the front of the truck and slides into the passenger seat.

They're silent while Daryl drives towards the dirt path that will lead them into the quarry, and Carol ventures, "All I meant was that it'll take some extra effort, Daryl. It sets us up for a lie. We're untrustworthy from the get-go. I don't - it has nothing to do with -"

"We're here," Daryl cuts her off harshly, and slams the breaks a little harder than he needed. Sophia starts to whimper against Carol's chest, and Carol shoots him a dirty look.

"Whatever, Daryl. Just don't be an asshole and it should be fine."

He scoffs, and jumps out of the truck, slamming the door behind him and pulling out his shit from the bed.

Morales wanders over and his eyebrows shoot up. "Damn, you've got a _ton_ of stuff here!"

Daryl simply grunts at that, and heads into camp, finding Merle on the other edge near the forest and dumping his shit there.

Merle smirks at him and says, "Oh, why, _thank_ you, little brother. Got my own valet and everythin'."

"Shut the fuck up and grab your shit."

Merle strides back down the path, passing the truck to retrieve his bike from the woods, and Carol's walking into the quarry with her enormous backpack, looking for their spot.

Daryl wordlessly beckons for the backpack, and she shoots him a confused look as she shrugs it off, and he walks back across camp and tosses it down with everything else.

"Start settin' up, I'll grab the rest."

They'd only found one small tent at the cabin, so at least Carol and Sophia can sleep there while Merle and Daryl sleep in their bedrolls. Daryl's sure Merle had designs on the tent, but fuck if he'll let a baby sleep outdoors on the fucking ground. No fucking way.

Not to mention, Daryl thinks sourly, apparently Carol and Sophia are his wife and child now, so Merle can't tell them what to do.

Whatever.

Daryl mindlessly unpacks the rest of the truck, and eventually Merle rolls up with his bike. Unsurprisingly, he doesn't bother uncovering his stash from beneath the seat, and instead introduces himself to the rest of camp in that slimy, smarmy tone he's perfected over the years.

It doesn't work, though; Daryl can see it in everyone's eyes, they see right through him for the redneck asshole that he is, and it doesn't curb Daryl's anxiety one bit.

He hadn't expected whatever group they would have stumbled upon to be this big - it'll be three times as hard as he'd thought to pull it off, and even though their security is a joke, it'll probably have to happen after they've been here long enough to be trusted for watch shifts.

Goddammit. He doesn't know _why_ he bothers to listen Merle anymore; when he'd decided to rob whatever camp Carol wanted to join, he'd been half-blasted and stir-crazy. It was a bad idea from the start.

But whatever. It is what it is.

As he's setting up the tent, though, he sees Carol pull out _another_ tent from her enormous backpack, and he hisses, "What the fuck else you got in there, anyway?"

She rolls her eyes. "Can we not do this right now?"

He darts his eyes around and notices a few people sending him wary looks, far away enough that they probably can't hear, but he's not taking any chances.

That feral, dangerous, redneck asshole appearance rears its ugly head once again, and Daryl hates himself just a little bit more for it.

He helps set up Carol's tent, and organizes the rest of their supplies, and Merle finally makes his way back to them.

"Well, well, well. Looks like we got lucky after all, huh?"

Merle flops down in front of his and Daryl's tent, and Daryl glares at him. "The fuck's that s'posed to mean?"

"It _means_ , little brother, that you and wifey got your own tent, and I got my own tent, too."

"Ain't _got our own_ tent, Merle, shut the fuck up."

"Well, I sure as _shit_ ain't sharin' with _you_ , and I ain't about to sleep outside just 'cause you scared of your woman."

"Why you gotta be like this, huh? Why you gotta make everythin' a hundred times harder than it's gotta be?"

Merle smirks at him, and says, "Be grateful, little brother. Secured you more pussy than you got your whole life, and that's sayin' somethin' with sugar tits right over there." He raises his eyebrows in some blonde woman's direction, and she grimaces.

Wonderful.

Merle continues. "'Sides, gonna be mighty odd that a man and his wife ain't sleepin' together, huh?"

Daryl's fists ball up, and all he mutters is, "You're such a fuckin' piece of shit, Merle."

Merle's eyes glitter against the darkening sky, and he warns, "Best make sure you stay on my good side, boy. Ain't got much patience for all this do-goodin' shit."

Daryl's not interested in starting a fight right now and soiling their good welcome, but he's fucking pissed, and he can't wait until they get the hell out of there.

Soon enough, everyone settles around the fire, and he, Merle, and Carol split a can of black beans and a bag of pretzels while some of the women coo over Sophia.

The one Merle called sugar tits is sitting next to Carol, and she asks, "Oh, can I hold her? It's been ages since I've seen a baby."

Carol smiles, and passes her over.

Sugar tits smiles, and says, "Oh, I'm Andrea, by the way, and this is my sister Amy."

Amy smiles and nods, eyeing Sophia with anticipation.

Everyone else catches on, and goes around the circle introducing themselves - Dale, Jacqui, Jim, T-Dog, Glenn, Shane, Lori, Carl, Morales, Miranda, Eliza, and at that point Daryl loses track. Too many damn people.

So he busies himself with scarfing down his portion of beans, and then one of the women asks, "So, Carol, how did you and Daryl meet?"

He feels his cheeks prickle, but the fire probably hides it well.

"Oh, I was camping with a friend and ran into him nearby. Little Sophia came not too long after."

Daryl manages not to choke on his beans, and Merle snickers next to him, but thankfully he stays quiet.

"What about you, Lori? How did you and Shane meet?"

"Oh, no, we aren't, um. No, he's - he _was_ \- my husband's partner. Police. Carl's my boy."

The group falls silent for a moment, and then Jacqui asks, "Andrea, pass her here. If that's okay, Carol."

Carol smiles across the fire, and if Daryl's not mistaken, it actually looks genuine. "Yeah, of course! Go ahead."

As Andrea's passing off Sophia, Shane asks, "So Merle. These huntin' skills you were talkin' about earlier."

Merle puffs his chest out. "Oh, yeah, sure. Little brother's not too bad neither, when it comes to it. Could feed a group this size no problem."

One of the kids pipes up, "What's the biggest thing you caught?"

"Hoo, boy, what haven't I caught? Ten-point buck, wild boar, even an alligator once."

Well, that's complete and utter bullshit. Boar, sure, maybe an eight-point buck at most, but no fucking way Merle hunted an _alligator_ , for fuck's sake.

Daryl scoffs, and Merle sneers, "Ain't like you had much better."

"You forgettin' that chupacabra?"

T-Dog barks out a laugh. "You said _chupacabra_?"

Daryl glares at him. "Yeah, chupacabra."

The old man - Dale - pipes up, "Where were you that you thought you saw a chupacabra?"

"Ain't _thought_ , I _did_ see a chupacabra once, when I was out huntin' for squirrels. Big nasty thing, ugly as hell and screamed like the devil. Fuckin' chupacabra."

He flickers his gaze at Carol, and she's regarding him with a mild amusement, which pisses him off more than the skepticism of the group at large.

"Hell with all y'all, y'all don't know nothin'," he snarls, and he stomps off to the water's edge.

As he walks away, Merle says something that's got the group laughing, and Daryl's fury burns brighter. What a fucking asshole.

He sits on the riverbank and kicks at the rocks, stewing in his own irritation. Merle gets under his skin better than most, but he _hates_ feeling judged by other people, and with the way he looks and talks and acts all he _does_ is invite judgement. Insecurity's his second skin - he wears it well, always has, and the need for approval practically _drips_ off him, and he hates himself for it.

Daryl whips his head around at the quiet footsteps behind him, but it's just Carol tugging along the trash bag filled with Sophia's shit-soaked diapers.

"Mind if I join?" she asks, and he shrugs.

She takes that as a yes, and when she opens the bag, Daryl almost gags at the smell. Jesus fuck, what the _fuck_ is wrong with this kid? No fucking way baby shit always smells this bad, no parent in their right mind would think this is cute.

Carol dumps it out on the rocks next to her and tosses the bag to the side, and dunks the first rag into the river.

He watches her scrub at it for a moment, and asks, "Where's Sophia?"

"Up by the fire, Lori was enamored with her. I figured now is as good a time as any to get some clean diapers."

They're quiet for a moment, and he picks up a rag, wrinkling his nose and submerging it in the river before it can get too offensive.

He scrapes it against a rock, and she says, "You don't have to do this, you know."

Daryl just shrugs. It's not that he _wants_ to do this, exactly, but his plan to sulk in silence was interrupted, and he'd feel like an even bigger asshole if he just watched Carol do chores while he sat on his ass pouting.

She picks up another rag and douses it in the water, wringing it out and scrubbing it with a rock, and after a while she says, "Thank you."

He scoffs. "Ain't nothin'."

"I'm not talking about the diapers, Daryl. I'm talking about everything. You didn't have to do this. _Any_ of this."

He stiffens - he doesn't know how to handle compliments or thanks or praise, and he doesn't like it. Doesn't like the prickling sensation it brings to his face, or the twisting in his gut, or the flushing in his chest. It's unfamiliar and uncomfortable and unwanted.

"Whatever."

"It's not 'whatever', Daryl, and you know that."

He doesn't say anything to that, but the prickling and twisting and flushing grows stronger.

He has half a mind to leave her with the dirty rags, but they're almost done, and as long as she doesn't keep saying that shit, he'd rather just finish up and just go to bed.

Oh, right.

"How -" he breaks off, uncomfortable as all hell. He clears his throat and tries again. "The, uh - tents -"

Thankfully, she knows what he's attempting to ask, and says, "I figure Merle's taking the one for himself, and he's never exactly seemed like the sharing type."

Daryl snorts. Yeah, Merle. All sharing and caring, that one.

"So if you want, you can share my tent. It's large, meant for three people. My - well, there's going to be plenty of space, if you don't want to sleep outside." She pauses, and adds, "And if you're worried about keeping up appearances, it's probably a good idea to share, anyway. But if it's too weird, that's fine, I'm sure there are other people here who don't stay together."

He shrugs. Yeah, it makes him really fucking uncomfortable. But he knows Merle would berate him to the world's end - or, well, until the end of time - for being too pussy to sleep in a tent, and raising enough suspicion to prevent them from robbing the camp unawares, and it's just more trouble than it's worth.

It's a tent, for fuck's sake. It's not a _bed_.

"Yeah, okay," he finds himself saying, and she nods.

And it's then that Lori walks down to them, saying, "Hey, I wasn't sure if you wanted one of us to do this, but Sophia's gotta get changed, and she might be hungry, I'm not sure -"

Carol takes her from Lori's arms and thanks her, and without preamble just strips off Sophia's last clean diaper.

She motions to the clean pile slowly growing next to Daryl. "Are any of those dry?"

He shakes his head. "Nah, all wet. She can have a shirt or something, though, if you want."

Carol smiles at him - a real, genuine smile, it looks like, even if it's small - and says, "That would be wonderful, Daryl. Thank you."

He nods, wipes off his hands on his pants, and heads back to camp, rifling through his pack.

One of the girls - Amy, he thinks - sidles up behind him, and blurts out, "Your baby is really cute."

Daryl whips his head around, shirt in tow, and just stares at her until her face turns red and she backs off. "Yeah, okay, sorry, I didn't mean..."

Whatever.

He heads back down to the river, where Sophia's wailing with discomfort, and shoves the shirt at Carol. "Here."

"Oh, thank you."

Daryl finishes scrubbing the rest of the rags while Carol changes Sophia, and he's caught off-guard when she starts to feed her.

He's used to it by now, but it still makes him blush, and he fucking hates it. Merle's a real creep about it, and he doesn't want to be like that. It's a _baby_ , for fuck's sake, it has to eat _something_ , and it's got nothing to do with Carol's tits, except for some reason his lizard brain won't separate them and it's _embarrassing_.

She must catch him looking away in the corner of her eye, though, because she says, "Thought you'd be used to it by now, _husband_ ," and he winces.

"Stop."

She just chuckles to herself, and he fidgets, not wanting to leave her alone while she's in a vulnerable position, but not wanting to stay any longer than he has to, and he busies himself fiddling with the clean rags until she's done.

As soon as she buttons up her shirt, he swipes the rags and drapes them over some tree branches above their tent, and then he again busies himself fiddling with his pack.

She clambers into the tent, and pokes her head back out. "You coming?"

Merle's nowhere to be seen, thank fuck, because there's a dirty joke that practically writes itself, so Daryl just settles with grumbling to himself and clambering in after her, scooting into the furthest corner from her.

There's a lamp on, and Carol says, "I have to stay up for a little, make sure she doesn't lay down, so if the light bothers you..."

"Nah, it's fine."

They fall into an awkward silence while Daryl chews at his thumbnail, and then he blurts out, "How you know all this baby shit, anyway?"

She blinks, and smiles at him. "I read about a million books while I was pregnant. There's one in my backpack, if you're interested."

Oh. Fucking obviously.

Daryl paws through her backpack, more for something to do while he waits, and pulls out the book. He aimlessly flips through it, catching snippets of mastitis and reverse cycling and vaccines.

Oh, shit. "Don't got no vaccines or nothin'."

Carol shrugs, attention focused on Sophia. "Yeah, well, that's what happens when you give birth during the apocalypse."

He hedges, wanting to ask what's been on his mind for a while, but not sure if it's too invasive. "Was - did it happen before, or...?"

"Yeah, just before. I got out a few days before the hospitals were overrun, if you can believe it. Everything kind of just... collapsed after that."

Daryl just nods. What a nightmare that must have been - bad enough to be pregnant, bad enough to have a baby in all this, but to actually give birth next door to people who were turning? Christ.

He wants to ask the next obvious question, but that's _way_ too invasive, and she doesn't volunteer the information.

Carol pushes the bassinet off to the side, and arranges the bedding inside of it before laying Sophia down.

"Thank you for grabbing this, by the way. You didn't have to."

"Ain't nothin'."

"It _is_ something, actually, and that something is very kind of you."

Daryl shrugs, eyes darting away, and Carol stretches out next to him.

"You can turn off the light, if you want."

"Oh, yeah, sure."

He switches off the lamp and folds his hands behind his head, staring up at the tent.

Soon enough, Carol's breathing evens out, and Daryl listens to the two of them, sleeping in tandem, and he wonders how the fuck he ended up here.

He'd been fully prepared to spend his life in some shitty, dank cabin, snagging the occasional rabbit and watching Merle shoot up every couple of days. And within a week he'd somehow ended up with a wife and a baby and a whole group of people at his feet.

Not that he actually _believes_ Carol's his wife and Sophia's his kid, obviously. Of course not. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel some kind of way about them. Carol's tough, that much is clear, but there's something about her that screams a need for protection, even besides the baby strapped to her chest.

He _wants_ to protect them, _wants_ to make sure they're safe and healthy and he can't quite reconcile that with Merle's plan to leave them with less than they came.

He tries to push it out of his mind, telling himself that he doesn't owe Carol and Sophia anything, he's already gone out of his way for them and they should just be grateful for what he's given them, but it falls flat and he can already _hear_ Merle calling him a pansy for getting Parent-Trapped.

Fucking _stupid_ is what he is.

Daryl rubs his hands over his face and shuts his eyes, willing his mind to turn off and go to sleep.

\--

Daryl's suddenly awake and doesn't understand why, until he hears Carol whispering and shushing, and he rubs at his eyes while Carol pulls Sophia from the bassinet.

"She okay?"

"Yeah, just hungry."

Predictably, Daryl's cheeks start to prickle, and he grunts, "She gonna do this all night?"

"She eats, sleeps, and poops every couple of hours, Daryl. It'll slow down as she gets older. Read the book."

He glares at her in the dark, but he's awake now, and he's always had trouble falling back asleep, so he just lies there for a while.

Then his harsh whisper cuts through the quiet. "Why you bein' so fake around these people?"

"Same reason you're my husband now." When Daryl doesn't respond, she adds, "I don't trust them, not yet. Like I said, there are plenty of people who are willing to cut Sophia loose. I want them to underestimate me until I know who they are."

Fair enough. But there's a sting of guilt in his gut when he thinks about ditching her with everyone again. These people seem nice enough, but what if they _are_ the type to leave a baby to die? What if Daryl's the only reason they're letting Sophia stick around? What happens when he leaves? What -

His internal monologue is cut short by the sound of a burp, but he can't smell any puke, thankfully.

"Babies are so fuckin' gross."

He hadn't meant to say that out loud, but Carol softly giggles and says, "Yeah, sometimes."

They're quiet for a moment longer, and she says, "I didn't mean to keep you up, Daryl, you can go back to sleep."

He just grunts. "Never been good at sleepin'. If I'm up, I'm up."

"Sorry."

He shrugs, but then realizes she probably can't see that. "Don't be."


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, the camp's up and bustling earlier than he'd expected. Carol volunteers for laundry, Merle's pulled out to haul water with Shane, and Daryl's mostly left to his own devices.

So he sharpens his knives and cleans his guns while taking stock of everyone else.

Kids are running around bickering and playing, and they all give him a wide berth. As much as he expected.

The old man and some tall, scrawny guy - Dale and Jim, Daryl thinks - are busy tinkering with the RV. Glenn's sitting on top of it on watch, and just like Daryl predicted, he's shit at it, completely ignoring the area that allowed the three - four - of them to sneak up yesterday.

Amy and Andrea are washing clothes by the river while Jacqui and Carol hang them to dry, Sophia wrapped up tight.

Lori and T-Dog are fiddling with cans of food near the fire, stacking some and opening others and starting what looks like some kind of stew.

Some of the other women are washing dishes - Daryl can't for the life of him remember their names - and Morales and Miranda are not nearly as hidden as they think they are, worried looks on their faces and stiff body language while they have a quiet domestic.

There's a couple of other guys milling around that don't really seem to be doing all that much besides standing near the C.B., but fuck if Daryl's going to make a fuss about pulling weight.

As he's putting the whetstone away, Shane and Merle pull up in a Jeep, announcing that the water's ready for use and everyone rushes over with empty canteens. They both look damn unhappy, and Daryl scoffs to himself, knowing exactly how _that_ little trip went. Merle's always been shit with first impressions. Any impressions, really, except for the ones that emphasize just how much of a redneck asshole he really is.

Merle swaggers over to their tents, Shane glaring daggers into his back, and drawls, "Nice to see you're keepin' busy, little brother."

Daryl rolls his eyes. "Cop as much of a piece of shit as he looks?"

"Worse. You know how them pigs are."

Daryl grunts, and resumes disassembling his handgun.

"You see anythin' interestin'?"

Daryl knows what he's really asking, and the middle of camp with a hundred people nearby is a stupid place to have this discussion. So Daryl jerks his head towards the woods, and says, "Let's hunt."

Merle smirks and reaches for Daryl's crossbow, and Daryl snatches it before he can grab it. They glare at each other for a moment, and Daryl says, "Gotta tell Carol first."

"My oh my, you already pussy-whipped and you ain't even got your dick wet yet."

"Shut the fuck up."

Daryl heads down to the river, and none of the women realize he's there until he barks, "Carol. Headin' out."

He catches a glimpse of their wary expressions out of the corner of his eye, and doesn't wait for Carol's response before he turns around and walks back to Merle.

\--

They're deep in the woods when Merle says, "You too busy sittin' on your ass to look around?"

Daryl narrows his eyes. "Bunch'a dumbasses, just like we thought. Ain't got shit watch, seem more concerned with chores than payin' attention."

"Huh."

"Yeah."

They venture further into the forest and Merle says, "Cop had a few words to say to me, all high'n mighty, talkin' 'bout how he gonna protect his, and I best watch myself and shit."

Daryl scoffs, and Merle adds, "Had a few words myself, bitch thinkin' he can tell me what's what, ain't gonna let no shit fly."

"Shakin' in his boots, I bet."

Merle glowers, but when they both hear a twig snap nearby, they crouch and start sneaking in a practiced motion, and by the end they've got a couple foxes and half a dozen rabbits to show for it.

\--

They're back at camp well before the sun sets, and Daryl's convinced Merle that they need to share with the rest of the camp to get in their good graces. Merle excuses himself from preparing the food, and Daryl watches him walk off to his bike with a pit in his stomach, knowing exactly what Merle's got in store for the next few hours.

Sure enough, by the time dinner's ready, Merle's nearly vibrating out of his skin, and either Shane's too stupid to see it, or he's an even bigger dickhead than Daryl took him for, deliberately picking a fight when Merle's high enough to fall for it.

Well, Merle would fall for it either way, but it'll get a lot louder and a lot more violent than it needs to be.

"So, boys," he starts, and Daryl's hackles raise at the condescension dripping from his voice. "Why don't you tell us a little more about yourselves, huh?"

Daryl glowers at him, and Merle frowns. "You got somethin' in mind?"

"Sure. How about, what'd you do before all this?"

An innocent enough question, but the insinuation is pretty clear.

"Military man, made this godforsaken country proud."

Proud. Sure. The court-martial and prison time and dishonorable discharge was a shining beacon of selfless service.

"How about you, Daryl?"

Daryl grunts and makes a vague gesture to the food. "Ain't it obvious?"

Shane nods, pursing his lips. "Mighty fine of you to share your... expertise."

Merle scoffs, and glances meaningfully at T-Dog and Jacqui sitting across the fire. "Mighty fine of us indeed."

T-Dog narrows his eyes, but Jacqui just lays a hand on his forearm, and they lapse into silence around the fire.

Shane tries again. "Seems like you got yourself an interestin' choice of transportation."

Lori mutters, "Shane, don't."

Merle's eyes glitter dangerously, lips flattening into a thin line. "You best not be talkin' shit on my Triumph."

Shane contorts his face into a wholly unconvincing expression of innocence. "What, we can't ask questions now?"

"Don't think I heard a question there, Chief Wiggum."

The atmosphere tenses, and Shane leans forward, an ugly smirk on his face. "I met plenty of bikers before, a lot of 'em ex-military like you. A lot of 'em seemed to have a similar lifestyle. Similar interests."

"The fuck's that s'posed to mean?" Daryl snarls, knowing _exactly_ what that means, and he senses Carol flinching next to him.

" _Means_ there's certain kinds of men who like motorcycles, and certain kinds of men who call themselves bikers."

Merle sneers, and says, "If'n you wanna ask somethin', be a man and quit pussyfootin' around."

Shane levels his gaze at Merle for a moment, and asks, "Why you so amped up, man?"

_Fuck_ _ing_ cops.

That does it, just like Daryl knew it would. Merle's up on his feet, leaning halfway across the fire, snarling and pointing his finger at Shane. "Why the fuck you interrogatin' me when I put dinner on the damn table, huh? You should be on your knees thankin' me that I keep you'n your pussy-ass camp _alive_!"

And just like that, Carol's stiff as a board next to Daryl, but as soon as Sophia starts wailing she's desperately trying to soothe her, and Daryl snarls, "Get that kid to the fuckin' tent."

"- fuckin' _pigs_ ain't got no business pokin' around, you ain't better'n me, _none_ you bitches better'n me -"

Dale's been watching the entire exchange with an increasing look of panic, but he narrows his eyes at Daryl and says, "You shouldn't talk to your wife like that, son."

Well, fuck that. "You best keep your goddamn nose out from where it don't belong, old man."

"- y'all can kiss my _lily-white ass_ , you fuckin' -"

Glenn shouts, " _Stop_ _!_ This bullshit's gonna bring a hundred geeks down on us, we don't _need_ this right now!"

Merle's shocked enough to stop mid-rant, and his jaw drops. "Boy like _you_ gonna tell _me_ what to do? You got some balls, for a -"

Shane interrupts in a warning tone. "Don't you fuckin' -"

" _Shane._ "

Lori's fists are balled at her side, shoulders drawn up, and she looks mad enough to start steaming. " _Enough_."

Shane glares back at her, but falls silent, and Merle smirks. "That's right, boy, walk away, tail 'tween your legs. Go on."

Daryl can tell Shane's about to start up again, but one look from Lori cuts him off, and so he just turns on his heel and stalks off, muttering, "Don't need this shit, un-fuckin'-believable," and Merle just laughs.

"Fuckin' pussy, knew he was, ain't nobody man enough to take on ol' Merle."

Merle sits back down and helps himself to another bowl of stew as if nothing happened, and the rest of the camp is staring at him with outright disdain.

With a practiced air of caution, Dale ventures, "It's been a long day, everyone. I think we should all get some sleep."

Daryl stands at the fire with his arms folded, and watches everyone disperse, a roiling anger at Merle building inside him.

Why the fuck couldn't he just wait until after dinner to smoke up? He has his own _tent_ , for chrissake, he doesn't need to waltz around in front of everyone high as a goddamn kite. He just destroyed what little trust they had gained, if any, and there's no way they'll be able to empty out the camp and get the hell out anytime soon. The entire _plan_ was to secure a watch shift so they could do it and not get caught, but fuck if _anyone_ will let them roam around unsupervised anytime soon.

God _fucking_ dammit, Merle. Daryl's always been pissed off by his erratic, impulsive nature, but words don't describe how fucking _furious_ he is right now.

But he can't say any of that right now, because even if Merle only took enough to keep from going into withdrawal, he's still liable to lose his goddamned mind at the slightest provocation, and Daryl's not interested in starting a fistfight on top of the shit night they've already had.

So he waits until Merle's finished eating and back in his tent, and once Daryl hears the tell-tale clinking of bourbon bottles he knows Merle's in for the night.

Daryl finds a patch of grass conveniently located behind Carol's tent, out of fucks to give for the optics of sleeping away from his _wife_ , wishing like hell he could have any other life than the one he's got.

A few hours later, he listens to Sophia cry through the thin fabric, and waits until the lantern goes out to fall asleep.

\--

The next morning, Daryl's up at dawn, and doesn't bother waking up Merle. Bastard can sleep the day away for all he cares.

He stands up and walks over to where the fire's still weakly burning, and scoffs. Dumbasses nearly let the damn thing go out, all up their own asses overnight. He shoves more kindling into it and notices out of the corner of his eye that Carol's tent is still zipped. Good.

About thirty seconds later, Shane's striding over, and Daryl's glaring at the ground. Fucking fantastic.

"I'd like you to help out with the water."

Daryl injects as much sarcasm as he can into his words. "Mornin' to you too, officer."

"You got somethin' more important to do?"

Daryl falls silent, because no, he's got absolute shit else to do, and Shane barely conceals his smirk.

"Great. We'll take my Jeep."

Douche.

Daryl begrudgingly follows him over to the car, and they drive down.

As they fill up the buckets, Shane says, "Your brother gonna cause more trouble?"

Daryl scoffs. "Ain't his keeper."

"Yeah, well, we got enough to worry about without some junkie hollerin' like that."

Daryl doesn't bother responding, and loads a bucket into the car.

"Might I remind you that _we_ took _you_ in?"

"Man, don't start that shit. Y'all got a couple cans of beans and a group of can't-do-shit dinosaurs. Them kids cryin' about how they ain't had lunch and you worried about makin' sure nobody got they feelin's hurt? Ain't gonna last a week without our food and y'all _know_ it."

The look in Shane's eye tells Daryl that he knows he's right, and a sick sense of satisfaction floods his senses.

Shane just glowers at him, and says, "All I'm gonna say is that you boys only got so many chances here. There's gonna be consequences to your actions."

Daryl sneers. "What is this, some scared straight shit?"

"Don't test me, Daryl."

"Then quit sayin' dumb shit and get the rest of this damn water back to camp, fuckin' sick of listenin' to you."

They glare at each other a moment longer, and as soon as they pull up, Daryl hops out and doesn't bother to help distribute the water.

Everyone gives him a wide berth, and Daryl's lips curl in disgust.

Carol's tent is unzipped now, and she's busy washing dishes by the RV. He catches her eye, and when she doesn't blink, he drops his gaze, chagrined.

Yeah, he shouldn't have snapped at her like that. Not her fault the baby flipped out when everyone started shouting. Not the baby's fault, either.

He busies himself gathering sticks in the forest, and chops firewood for the next few hours while Merle sleeps off what will undoubtedly be a mother of a hangover.

\--

As night falls, Daryl runs out of busy work to do, and Carol's playing with Sophia in the tent.

He wanders over and fidgets until she calls, "You can come inside, Daryl."

After a moment's hesitation, he does, and quickly scoots back to the furthest corner of the tent, fiddling with a fraying string on his pants.

They're quiet for a few minutes, until Carol says, "I don't want you to speak to me like that ever again."

He doesn't respond, and he pulls on the string until it breaks.

"Can you take Sophia for a moment?"

He looks up. "Everythin' okay?"

"Yeah, just need to pee."

He holds his hands out wordlessly, and she passes Sophia off before exiting the tent.

Daryl's not really sure what to do; the kid's looking at him expectantly, so he just tries bouncing her in his lap like he's seen Carol do.

Sophia smiles, and he suddenly has an urge to babble at her in that stupid voice he hears other people do all the time. She's pretty damn cute.

Until she burps and then pukes all over his lap.

"Aw, what the _fuck_?" he groans, just as Carol steps back into the tent.

Carol has the nerve to start snickering, and he glares at her. She shrugs, and says with a smirk, "Well, you kind of deserved it, don't you think?"

His frown deepens as he holds Sophia away from him like she's a ticking bomb. "It fuckin' _reeks_."

"Yeah, well, babies are gross sometimes, remember?" Carol takes Sophia back from his outstretched hands, and adds, "Just get changed, and I'll wash your pants later." She exits the tent, leaving Daryl to grumble to himself, and he zips it up before hastily yanking off his jeans and shoving his legs into a new pair.

Yeah, he probably deserved it.

Still gross, though.

\--

Dinner that night is a quiet affair, and Merle's still off in his tent, and although the atmosphere is tense, it's light-years away from last night's disaster.

Carol convinces him to share a can of pickled beets mixed with tuna, and while it's not _as_ disgusting as he'd expected, it's still a far cry from the stew.

As they pack it in for the night, she says, "You can stay with me if you want, you know."

He ducks his head, and slowly follows her into the tent.

Carol lays on her back and places Sophia on her chest, murmuring at her in a voice remarkably similar to the one Daryl had to swallow back earlier. It doesn't sound quite as stupid when she does it, though.

"Why you doin' that?"

Carol doesn't look away from Sophia. "It's called tummy time, babies need to develop their neck muscles so they can hold their heads up on their own."

"Stupid name for it." It slips out before he can stop it, but Carol just smiles.

"People tend to get stupid around babies."

Daryl snorts.

Carol makes silly faces at Sophia for a few more minutes, and Daryl asks, "You still got that book?"

She stops, and looks over at Daryl with an expression he can't quite read. "Yeah, it's in my bag over there."

He nods and pulls it out, flipping through it until he gets to 'tummy time', and starts reading.

Just in time, too, because Carol decides that's the perfect time to start feeding Sophia.

He wonders if she's doing it on purpose just to embarrass him. He wouldn't put it past her.

He keeps his eyes focused on the pages until Carol's finished, and after she burps Sophia and sits her in her lap he squints at her.

"She ain't pukin' all over you."

Carol smirks. "I guess she just likes me better."

Daryl hedges for a moment before asking, "I do somethin' wrong, though?"

"I don't know, maybe. What were you doing?"

"Bouncin' her. Like you do."

She shrugs. "Maybe you were doing it too hard. Can't upset her stomach too much."

He nods, and she adds, "You didn't hurt her, though, don't worry."

Daryl hadn't even noticed that was something he was worried about until he feels part of himself relax at that, and they sit in silence for a while longer.

Eventually, Carol puts Sophia to bed, and they say goodnight, and Daryl falls asleep faster than he'd expected.

\--

A few hours later, though, Sophia starts whimpering, and the routine restarts.

Daryl's pointedly staring at the ceiling of the tent, and a thought occurs to him. "Where'd you learn to throw knives?"

"Hmm?"

"Back at the cabin. You threw a knife at me and Merle."

"It wasn't _at_ you, Daryl, it was _near_ you."

Daryl snorts. "Whatever."

Carol's quiet for a moment, and says, "My husband was a prepper. He had quite a few skills."

"He teach you?"

"Something like that."

The way she says that leaves a nasty feeling in Daryl's gut, and he regrets snapping at her all over again.

He's not an idiot - he can spot a kindred spirit, and adding the vague comments about her husband to her obvious discomfort around raised voices makes for a pretty clear picture of her life before all this.

He doesn't say anything more, and soon enough Sophia's put back to bed and the lantern's extinguished, and he's staring at the roof of the tent by himself for a while longer.


	4. Chapter 4

Daryl's up early in the morning, slipping out of the tent without waking Carol and Sophia. He grabs the trash bag with his soiled pants he'd stashed behind the rest of his supplies, and sneaks down to the river.

It smells even worse, having sat overnight, and he wrinkles his nose, dunking them in the water and pulling over a large rock.

He's scrubbing furiously at it when someone walks up behind him, and he whips his head around.

It's T-Dog.

Daryl squints at him. "What?"

T-Dog crosses his arms. "Your brother."

What the fuck is with these people? "Told that blowhard cop. Ain't his fuckin' keeper," Daryl scoffs, and returns his attention to the baby puke.

"Maybe not, but he scared everyone, man. Can't have him flippin' out like that, bringin' the geeks down on us."

Daryl sneers. "Big man like you too pussy to talk to him?"

He can hear the irritation lacing T-Dog's voice, and he feels a twisted sense of satisfaction. "Big man. Right. Know what? Don't got the patience to deal with the two of you. You wanna dig your graves, you go right ahead, man. Least I tried."

As he stalks off, Daryl catches the tail end of some remark to someone else, and before he knows it, Carol's up behind him.

"Damn popular today, huh," he grunts, and Carol just sighs.

"Do you have to piss everyone off around here?"

He shoots a glare at her, and returns to vigorously scrubbing his pants. "I'm pissin' you off so much, go do your own shit, leave me be."

He can feel her eyes boring into the back of his skull, but she doesn't say anything, just scoops some water into a small bucket, and Sophia starts making soft noises muffled against Carol's chest.

"All I'm saying is that you're not doing yourself - any of us - any favors by lashing out all the the time. I'd like to stay here for a while, and I'm not sure if I can do that when you two are alienating everyone."

Daryl doesn't say anything, but feels a little chagrined at her words, and she takes the bucket with her when she leaves.

He's always had a short temper, and for the most part it's just kept everyone at arm's length, gotten him into fistfights and shouting matches. There have been plenty of times when he's regretted it - it's gotten him fired from a few odd jobs, evicted from shitty apartments, and when he was younger, beaten half to shit by his old man - but he's never really felt all that _bad_ about how he's treated other people. If they want to hate him on sight, he'll hate them right back, who fucking cares?

But now it's putting a goddamn _baby_ at risk. If his bullshit gets them kicked out from camp, they might not let Carol and Sophia stay with them, and then what?

Although if he and Merle can take what they want before they get kicked out, it doesn't matter anyway.

Daryl tries to ignore the sudden twist in his gut when he thinks about that, and shoves it away.

Merle's his _brother_ , for fuck's sake. He's not going to put some woman he doesn't know and some baby that isn't his above his _brother_.

"Man the fuck up and quit bein' such a pussy," he mutters to himself, and once his pants are clean he spits in the river for good measure.

\--

By the time Daryl gets back, Merle's up and only barely antagonizing people, which is better than nothing, Daryl supposes.

Shane's still glaring at him from across camp, and Daryl feels the urge to do something trustworthy to outweigh Merle's assholery. So he pulls the bassinet out of the tent, places it near the fire, and walks over to where Lori and Carol are swaddling Sophia.

Carol looks up and flashes a small smile at him. "Hi there."

"Hey." He doesn't bother looking at Lori. "Want me to take her?"

Carol's very clearly taken aback, but manages to quickly smooth out her expression. "Um, sure... I just gave her a bath, she's probably ready to sleep now."

Daryl shrugs. "Was just gonna work on the bow, can watch her while you do whatever."

"Uh... okay." Carol blinks at him, confused, but he doesn't bother explaining himself as he takes Sophia back to the fire.

He's about to lay her in the bassinet when she starts whimpering, so he takes her back to the tent, and rummages through all their shit one-handed, looking for her pacifier.

He can only find the one he brought back from the abandoned house, and it's dirty as hell, so he groans and takes his canteen and a clean rag outside.

Sophia's whimpers have started to turn into real cries now, and Merle shoots Daryl a dirty look, and Daryl glares right back. He lays Sophia down in the bassinet and dumps the canteen all over the pacifier, rubbing it clean with the rag, and when he's satisfied he leans over and pops it into Sophia's mouth.

She immediately spits it back out, and he says, "Uh-uh, nope. Time for bed. You ain't gonna fall asleep cryin' like that."

He pops it back in, and miraculously, she quiets down, gazing up at Daryl with a sense of wonder, and he finds himself fighting back a small smile again.

He's never spent much time around babies, but damn if she hasn't unearthed a soft spot he never knew he had.

As he picks up his bow, he notices Carol quirking her lips at him from across camp, and he feels his cheeks start to heat up.

Predictably, Merle runs his mouth about what a dutiful husband Daryl is, and he scowls. Asshole.

So Daryl starts to work on his bow, tightening the bolts with a jar of wax at his feet, and Morales makes the mistake of loudly complimenting Daryl's fathering abilities, and unsurprisingly, Merle rises to the bait, hurling insults and using some choice words sure to piss Morales off.

Daryl stays the hell out of it; not only is he uninterested in cleaning up more of Merle's messes, but he said he'd watch Sophia while Carol did whatever she was going to do, which looks like preparing to forage for shit in the woods with Amy, and he's not about to change his mind. And it's not like he needs any compliments from a guy like Morales, for fuck's sake - man can focus on his own damn family and leave Daryl the hell alone.

But Shane steps in with a snarl, and Morales backs off, and Merle just boasts about how pussy guys like Morales are, and Daryl returns his attention to his bow.

Daryl's just finishing waxing his bow when some of the kids start to complain about lunch, and it occurs to him just how bright the sun is. That can't be good for the baby, laying out in the heat with no shade, and as he's debating whether or not to move her to the tent, she wakes up and starts to cry.

He lays the crossbow at his feet and picks her up, cradling her in his arms, and she spits the pacifier out. He catches it before it hits the ground, luckily, and tries to soothe her. "Shh, it's okay, momma's gonna be back soon, don't worry," and tries popping the pacifier back in, but she's not having any of it.

He knows she's hungry - whenever she wakes up the first thing she does is eat - but Carol's nowhere to be found and Daryl's at a loss for what to do.

Sophia's cries only grow louder, and everyone's looking at him, expecting him to make her stop, so he just snarls, "The fuck are y'all lookin' at?" and most of them glare right back, and return to whatever the fuck they were doing before.

He stomps over to the tent and clambers inside, trying to get Sophia to stop, and she quiets down a little, but nothing he's doing is really working.

Thank fuck only a few more minutes pass before Carol pokes her head in, and flashes him a small smile. "Trouble in paradise?"

He scowls at her, and holds Sophia out. "She's hungry."

"Yeah, I figured."

She sits down and takes Sophia from him, and that's his cue to get the fuck out.

As he's leaving, Carol says, "What, you don't want to stick around and watch the show?"

He whips his head around, glaring at her, but she's smirking, so he just mutters, "Stop," and returns to the fire to wipe down his bolts.

Shane's climbing down the RV from watch as Dale takes his place, and when he sees Merle smoking a cigarette, he asks, "Man, could you not do that with the kids around?"

"They got worse things to worry 'bout than a little tobacco, Chief."

Shane scowls. "Secondhand smoke, jackass. You wanna give yourself lung cancer, you go right ahead, but the kids don't need it. Nobody else, either."

Daryl's always known cops are stupid as hell, but this guy's a special breed, puffing up his chest and throwing his weight around an asshole like Merle. All it's going to get him is a fight.

Merle scoffs, just like Daryl knew he would, and says, "Don't you got some poor soul to put in handcuffs?"

"Just get the hell outta camp, Merle, go smoke that shit in the woods."

"You gonna make me?"

Goddammit.

Shane just scoffs, and asks, "You really wanna do this?"

"Bring it on, if you _man_ enough, you pussy-ass rent-a-cop."

Glenn appears out of nowhere and pleads, "Guys, can we please not do this? Please?"

Shane balls his fists up, and barks out a humorless laugh, and mutters, "Fuckin' asshole," as he stomps off to the forest.

Merle smirks at Glenn. "Figured _you'd_ be _his_ bitch, not the other way 'round."

Glen just rolls his eyes and walks off, and Merle stubs out his cigarette. "Lucky I was already finished," he calls, and turns to Daryl. "You gonna sit on your ass while your brother gets harassed by the law?"

Daryl mutters, "Don't need me to fight no battles for you, asshole."

Merle narrows his eyes, but doesn't say anything else, and wanders off to god-knows-where, and Daryl can _feel_ the camp relax.

Daryl walks back to the tent and mumbles, "You done?"

"Yeah, your eyes are protected," Carol calls back, and Daryl scoffs, opening the tent and grabbing a can of Chef Boyardee for lunch.

"Sounds like I missed some big drama."

"Dumb shit, ain't nothin' new."

"Mm." As she burps Sophia, she adds, "I'm guessing Merle's always been a troublemaker."

"One word for it."

"What about you?"

He narrows his eyes. "What the hell's that s'posed to mean?"

Carol sighs. "You know, sometimes I'm not actually trying to irritate you. Sometimes I'm actually trying to get to know you."

He stares back at the can and stuffs a cold ravioli into his mouth. "Ain't nothin' to know."

"I'm sure that's not true, but if you're not interested in sharing, you don't have to."

He eats the rest of the can in silence, and Sophia manages not to puke, and Carol takes her back outside to sit by the fire.

After a while, the tent gets too stuffy for Daryl, and he goes back outside. Carol's still sitting by the fire, and as Daryl walks by, she asks, "Do you know what to do with acorns?"

"Huh?"

"Acorns. I found a bunch, but I don't really know what to do with them."

Daryl nods and begins weeding through them, tossing the bad ones on the ground, and Amy walks over.

"What's that?"

"Acorns. Daryl's teaching me how to eat them."

Daryl doesn't bother to look up, but he can hear the smile in Carol's voice when she says, "Do you want to hold Sophia?"

"Yes please."

Amy sits across the fire, Carol hands Sophia off, and returns to Daryl.

"How do you know which ones are bad?"

"Green or ones with holes in 'em."

Carol pulls an empty bucket over. "Put the good ones in here."

He tosses the one he's holding into the bucket, and when they finish, Daryl stands up.

"Where are you going?"

He jerks his chin at the river. "Gotta get water, ain't enough left from this mornin'."

"Why?"

"Can't eat ones that float neither. Gotta boil 'em too."

He heads down the path, intending to walk down, but T-Dog stops him. "I'm going down too. You want a ride?"

Daryl scoffs, and gives him a once-over. "Nope."

T-Dog just stares at him and shakes his head, muttering, "Man, forget it." He hops into his van and drives down, and Daryl's halfway there when T-Dog passes him on the return drive.

Whatever.

He makes the trek back, and as he walks over to Carol, Lori's walking out of the forest, looking a little disheveled, and Shane's not far behind.

Huh.

\--

By the time dinner rolls around, the acorns have been shelled, skinned, boiled, and are roasting over the fire.

Everyone else's rations are running low, and Glenn offers to make a run into Atlanta for more supplies.

Shane says, "You should take more people with you, you're probably not gonna carry enough for everyone."

Glenn winces, but Andrea raises her hand. "I'll go."

"What? No!"

"Amy. Everything will be fine. I have a gun and Glenn knows what he's doing, right?"

Amy doesn't look particularly convinced. "Yeah, but -"

Morales adds, "I'll go too, Amy.

It's like a round robin - as soon as Andrea and Glenn volunteer, Jacqui and T-Dog agree to join them, and T-Dog even manages to convince Dale to hand over his toolbox.

Shane watches Merle scarf down a second can of Chef Boyardee - asshole ate the raviolis, he _knows_ Daryl likes them better - and says, "You gonna make yourself useful?"

Merle sneers. "More useful'n you, I'm bettin'."

"Then how about how go with 'em? You know," Shane says with a smirk, "if you're man enough."

Merle scowls, but predictably, he falls for the bait. "Guess someone's gotta make sure these pussies don't get themselves eaten."

T-Dog quietly groans, but everyone else stays silent, and the acorns go faster than Daryl had expected.

He glances back over at Glenn, and he doesn't inspire a whole lot of faith. Daryl hasn't been around all that long, but a kid who weighs a buck twenty soaking wet with two women who look wet behind the ears and a couple of guys who think they're tougher than they are aren't going to do so well up against a scavenged city full of walkers, even if Merle's with them. Hell, Merle would probably just drop the supplies and get the hell out of the city if it came down to it.

So fuck that. He'll go hunting.

He turns in early, and as dawn breaks he heads into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer that the character's dialogue and beliefs are not reflective of mine, and only reflective of the characterization on the show. Remember, Daryl's pretty racist at the beginning of the show - not overtly as bad as Merle, but it's still there. I tried to hint at it without having to say anything offensive, but I'm not sure how clear it was, and I sincerely hope that nothing I wrote makes it difficult for anyone to read.


	5. Chapter 5

Fucking Merle.

Daryl's rapidly swinging between fury that Merle stole their goddamn van, forcing them to hoof it all the way back to camp from the city, and concern for what awaits everyone at camp.

Merle's had all day to plot his revenge, and he's a creative motherfucker if he needs to be, and Daryl can't stop from jumping between worst-case scenarios in his head.

He wouldn't hurt Carol and Sophia, for sure. Right? The four of them showed up together, they should be exempt from whatever punishment Merle's going to dole out. They had nothing to do with it.

Hell, the only people left at camp who really _did_ have anything to do with it are Morales, Jacqui, and Andrea, but fuck if that means anything. Daryl's not levelheaded by any stretch of the word, but Merle can be straight-up _unhinged_ sometimes. It's bad enough that he got abandoned on the roof yesterday, but with a severed hand, sun-sick head, and empty stomach? Daryl's not sure if even _he_ can stop whatever Merle plans to do.

He suddenly regrets his total lack of acknowledgement of Carol and Sophia before leaving. She'd tried to talk to him while he was getting ready, and he'd completely ignored her, too angry and embarrassed by his outbursts and scared for Merle to focus on anything besides the run.

Not to mention he'd still been a hairsbreadth away from lashing out at anyone who looked at him wrong, and he hadn't wanted to take it out on her.

But finally, _finally_ they reach the dirt road only a few hundred feet from camp, and Daryl's trying not to puke at the stitch in his side, and that's when the screaming starts.

Screaming, crying, gunshots, a cacophony of violence, and for a moment Daryl feels a sick pit drop in his stomach, thinking that Merle's massacring the camp.

But there's groaning, too - unearthly, unholy groaning, and in the light of the fire Daryl can make out the band of walkers eating the group.

A bolt of fear courses through him, sharp and hot, and he tries to find Carol and Sophia in the mess, but a walker cuts him off and he bashes the fucker's head in.

They manage to clear out the camp, and when the shooting finally stops, Rick's shouting for Carl and Lori, and Daryl's about a second away from doing the same when Carol runs up to him, Sophia cradled against her shoulder, screaming like her hair's on fire, and Carol's got tears running down her face.

"Daryl, oh my god -"

"You okay? Hey, hey -" and Carol's squeezing him close, too close, too up in his space, and he flinches.

"Gonna squish the baby," he mutters, and he hates himself for the hurt that flashes across her face as she jumps back.

"Sorry, sorry, I don't -"

"It's fine, just - stay here a sec." He checks the perimeter of the camp, but there's nothing there, nothing near their tents, and he walks back to Carol.

"Everythin's good now, c'mon."

She's just standing still, though, clutching Sophia to her with a death-grip and she's got a thousand-yard stare aimed at Amy lying dead on the ground, everyone standing around her, and the baby's still wailing, red-faced and about to burst.

Daryl nudges her elbow. "Hey, hey. C'mere, give her here," and beckons to Sophia.

Wordlessly, Carol hands her off, and Daryl fumbles to cradle her in his arms, running his thumb along her cheek. "Shh, shh, it's okay, sweetheart, you're okay, everythin's okay," he murmurs, rocking her back and forth, and she starts to quiet down. "Yeah, see? It's all good, yeah."

He glances over at Carol, and she hasn't really moved, hasn't really processed any of it, and Daryl nudges her again. "Hey, c'mon, let's go."

He leads her over to the tent and she crawls inside, and Daryl awkwardly tries to scoot himself in while still holding Sophia.

Once he's situated, he pulls the bassinet over and lays Sophia down, locating one of her pacifiers for her, still murmuring and rocking her gently, and after a few minutes her eyes start to flutter.

Carol hasn't spoken through all of this, and her thousand-yard-stare is now aimed at the floor of the tent, and he whispers, "Hey."

She jerks out of her reverie, and he says, "Hey. You good?"

Carol just blinks, nods in a way that doesn't really seem like she's good, but Daryl's not going to push it.

She lays down and curls around the bassinet without another word, and Daryl's left with nothing but his own thoughts.

He's glad Merle wasn't here for this, at least - it would be an unbearably cruel joke for him to escape the rooftop with a sawed-off, self-cauterized hand, make his way through a city full of walkers, and steal their van, all to end up eaten and dead at camp.

But maybe this is _is_ karma - karma for everyone else who just left him for dead, the sorry bunch of pricks.

Hopefully he's still alive somewhere. Daryl knows he's not coming back.

And that's always what it comes down to. Merle leaves, and Daryl's left behind to pick up the pieces. Merle _always_ leaves. Merle left him alone in that house, knowing what their old man would do to Daryl. Juvie, the military, alcohol, drugs, women - any chance to leave, and Merle takes it.

He _knows_ Daryl was going to come for him. He _knows_. Daryl's stayed by his side, through thick and thin, and _still_ he left. He's out there somewhere, alone, knowing Daryl's alone too, and he doesn't seem to give a shit.

Maybe he got lost. Maybe the truck broke down and he had to walk. Maybe he holed up somewhere for the night. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Daryl keeps trying to tell himself anything else, anything besides what he knows deep down is true - Merle left him, _again_ , and more likely than not Daryl won't ever see him again, not unless he hunts him down.

He's alone, _again_ , and it's different being a loner and hating everyone when there's another asshole right next to him than it is being a loner and being alone.

Fucking Merle.

Daryl knows he should probably be out there killing the remains of their group, but he's got the nagging sense that he has to look out for Carol and Sophia. If more geeks come through, he doesn't want to be away from the tent. Besides, Shane's on watch, and if anyone wakes up dead he'll make sure everyone knows it.

Even without the attack, Daryl wouldn't be sleeping tonight either way.

A few hours later, there's a branch snapping just outside the tent, and both he and Carol whip their heads around. 

He knew she was still awake - her breathing wasn't as slow as it normally is when she sleeps - so he hisses, "Grab your knife, stay here," and slowly unzips the tent.

He peeks his head out, but doesn't see anything, and creeps out, quiet as can be.

There's nothing - in camp, behind the tent, around the perimeter, _nothing_ , and it's unnerving as hell. Daryl makes a split-second decision, sticks his head back in the tent and whispers, "Gonna stay out here. Go to sleep."

He doesn't give her time to argue before zipping the tent closed and sitting in front of the flap, crossbow in hand, waiting for morning to come.

\--

Daryl stays up through the night, and by the time the camp wakes up, Carol's still curled around the bassinet.

He decides to leave her be, and gets to business.

Amy's still laying on the ground, Andrea hovering over her, and nobody else seems to concerned about the ticking time bomb just waiting to blow.

Then they find out that Jim's a ticking time bomb, too, and Rick puts a gun to Daryl's head when he tries to solve the problem for them.

When he walks off, he catches a glimpse of Carol's face, and there's a strange expression there he can't quite read.

Whatever. They reap what they sow.

It’s all bullshit, anyway; they’re treating the dead – and the soon-to-be – with more consideration than they ever treated Merle. The cop left him to die alone on that roof, for fuck’s sake, but now he’s going to any length possible to save a man they all _know_ is on his last legs.

Rick and Shane get into a pissing contest about whether or not to go to CDC or Fort Benning, but in the end, Shane folds, and the camp decides to head to the CDC in the morning.

There's a bitter silence in the air during dinner, and everyone turns in early.

Daryl heads to Merle's tent and starts to pack up, and as he's getting ready for bed Carol pokes her head in.

It's late, later than she's normally up, and she asks, "You're sleeping in here tonight?"

Daryl ignores her, and pretends to straighten out Merle's bedroll for lack of anything else to do. It faintly smells like cigarettes and piss. Great.

Carol's not leaving, though, and she quietly asks, "Is this because of what happened earlier?"

Daryl scoffs. "Ain't figured you wanna be by the asshole who tried to _murder_ sweet old Jim," he says, words dripping with derision. Bunch of fucking high-on-their-horses saints, they are. They're just begging to get eaten.

He ignores the warring prick of shame that flares in his gut, telling him that he overreacted, all hopped up on the righteous fury of leaving Merle to die.

But to his surprise, Carol scoffs right back, and lets herself into his tent. "Don't be ridiculous, Daryl. You didn't try to _murder_ him, he's a dead man walking."

Daryl shoots her a disbelieving look, and she continues. "If it were me, I'd want the same." She smirks, and adds, "Well, maybe not an unexpected pickaxe to the head, but I wouldn't want to die all slow and painful like that. It's horrific."

He nods, considering her words, and again to his surprise he feels some of his self-loathing ease up.

Another moment passes, and he juts his chin in Sophia's general direction. "You just gonna leave her be?"

Carol shrugs, and quirks her lips. "I guess so, if you're planning on hiding in here."

"Ain't _hidin_ '."

"Sure, okay. Either way, I'll sit right here until you change your mind." She wrinkles her nose, and says, "Even with the, uh. _Mark_ of Merle's territory."

Yeah, it's fucking gross in here.

He sighs, a heavy, put-upon thing, and waves his hand. "Go on, then."

She smiles, and he follows her into her tent.

\--

Daryl's reading the baby book while Carol's got Sophia doing the neck thing on her chest - Daryl _refuses_ to call it by its name, stupid fucking name - and he's almost halfway through. It's too bad he's not going to finish it. He's not going to bring it with him and leave Carol without it, even if she knows everything in it.

She stops her soft babbling, and asks, "How are you feeling about the CDC?"

Daryl snorts. "Think it's a pipe dream. Fort Bennin', too."

"You don't think we'll make it?"

"Gonna need a lotta luck on your side, and seems like luck is in short supply these days."

She turns to look at him, and he can almost hear the wheels turning in her head.

He resumes reading the baby book, but after another moment or two, she asks, "You're not coming along?"

There's a note in her voice that he can't quite understand, but it makes him irritated. "Nope."

"Why on earth not?"

He scoffs, but doesn't answer beyond that.

She seems to understand, though, and gently says, "I'm not sure you'll be able to find him, Daryl."

He's not sure either, but he has to _try_ , at the very least.

As if she can read his mind, she adds, "You tried. It sounds like the trail went cold. And if he took the van, who knows where he ended up?"

He's not interested in listening to this anymore.

What the hell does she know? All she sees is some redneck asshole, anyway. Two redneck assholes. It's always been the two of them against the world - against their dad, against the expectations they could never live up to, and now against their camp. He can't just let that go.

The voice in his head unhelpfully reminds him that Merle wasn't _with_ Daryl against Dad. _Merle's_ the one that convinced him he was better off without anyone else. That he was the only person who would ever give a shit about Daryl. Hell, Merle's the one who wanted to leave a goddamn baby to die in the woods behind the cabin. The one that wanted to leave a whole group of people without food or weapons or anything to survive.

But he went along with it, because he's not shit without Merle, and he knows it. Merle knows it. Everyone in this _camp_ knows it.

Before he can shut down that unhelpful voice, it whispers to him that at the very least, Carol sees him differently. Otherwise she wouldn't be with him in this tent.

He tosses the book to the side and lays down on his bedroll, turning away from her in a clear dismissal.

She sighs, and after a few minutes she lays Sophia down too, and turns out the light.

\--

A few hours later, Sophia wakes up to eat, and Daryl hasn't slept a wink.

Carol must know that Daryl's awake, because even though he hasn't changed position, she says in a soft, gentle voice, "He's your brother. But he's not good for you." Sophia burps, and Carol adds, "Don't let him bring you down."

He doesn't say anything, doesn't move, and it seems like she wasn't expecting a response, because soon she puts Sophia back to sleep and turns off the lantern again.

He wishes she wasn't right.

\--

He wakes after a fitful night's sleep, and he's pissed when Rick gives half their ammo away to Morales, but there's not much he can do about it, and he's not interested in getting threatened with a hole in the head again.

As Daryl throws his bedroll into the bed of his truck, Carol follows him over.

He can tell she's about to say goodbye, and he finds himself blurting out, "You drivin' with me or Lori?"

Carol furrows her brows for a moment, but a small smile creeps onto her face, and she says, "You, if that's okay."

"Offered," he grumbles, and waves his hand in the general direction of the rest of the cars. "Go get your shit."

Carol quirks her lips, and soon enough, she, Sophia, and Daryl are on their way to the CDC with everyone else.

\--

But nothing's easy, of course, so not too long after the radiator hose on the RV dies, and then all of a sudden Jim's begging to be left behind.

Carol furrows her brow, blinking in disbelief. "And he's _lucid_?"

Daryl can understand her confusion - who the fuck _chooses_ to die like this?

But Rick's insisting that yes, he's lucid, and the decision's made to respect his wishes and leave Jim behind.

They prop him up against a tree and say their goodbyes, and Daryl's surprised to feel a little flare of respect for him. It's a stupid way to go, sure, not one that Daryl would _ever_ want, but he's going out on his own terms. Not dying helplessly inside a cramped RV.

Daryl nods at him, and he can see in the flicker of Jim's smile that he's forgiven.

\--

They pull up to the CDC as the sun sets, and it's disgusting - rotting corpses, flies everywhere, and Daryl thought that he'd gotten used to the stench of bloated, dead flesh in the Georgia heat, but this is unlike anything he's ever smelled before.

The bodies are _everywhere_ , spread all over and more than he can count, and when they get to the entrance, the door's locked.

It's growing dark fast, too fast, and walkers are making their way towards them - pressed up against the walls of a building that's been emptied for _months_ , by the looks of it, and Daryl knows that if there's one, there's more, and that's when he sees red.

He shoots it, and whirls around to look Rick dead in the eye. "YOU LED US INTO A _GRAVEYARD_!" he shouts, and advances on him.

From somewhere in the group, Dale calls, "He made a call!" But fuck that. That's not an excuse.

"It was the wrong damn call!" Daryl yells, and Shane gets up in his face, pointing his finger and snarling.

“Just shut up. You hear me? Shut up. Shut _up!_ ” He turns back to Rick, and says, “Rick, this is a dead end.”

Carol’s terrified, he can hear it in her voice. “Where are we gonna go?”

Shane’s still going. “Do you hear me? No blame.”

Lori interjects, frantic and worried. “She’s right. We can’t be here, this close to the city after dark.”

Then they’re back to arguing about Fort Benning and what to do and how to get there and Daryl doesn’t really give a shit so long as they get the fuck out of here, _now_.

Finally, _finally_ , the consensus is to just _go_ , and as they’re hurrying out Rick stops. “The camera – it moved.”

“You imagined it,” Dale says, but Rick’s just walking closer to the door.

“It moved.”

Shane starts pleading with him. “Rick, it is _dead_ , man. It’s an automated device. It’s gears, okay? They’re just windin’ down. Now _come on_!”

Rick refuses, and Shane keeps trying to convince him, but clearly it’s not working, because then Rick starts _slamming_ on the doors, begging and pleading to _nobody_.

Daryl’s so _sick_ of this shit – there’s nobody there, who the _fuck_ would have survived with a massacre just outside the doors? Night is falling, walkers are coming, and they need to _get the fuck out_ –

And then the door rolls open, a bright light shines through and quickly fades, and they creep in, guns drawn.

A gun cocks across the lobby, and some guy shouts, “Anybody infected?”


	6. Chapter 6

Before Daryl knows it, they’re bringing in their bags and getting the grand tour.

As the doctor’s showing them around, Carol asks, “Are we underground?”

Her voice wavers in a way that Daryl’s never heard before, and when the doctor just tells her to ignore her claustrophobia, her lips press together in a thin line.

Helpful.

They walk into some shiny, fancy room, and it turns out that the doctor’s the only guy left, aside from some weird robot lady.

The doctor - Jenner, apparently - begins to draw blood from everyone, and after Carol’s done he beckons to Sophia.

Daryl glares at him. “She’s a _baby_ , man.”

“Price of admission. I told you that.”

“You really think a baby’s gonna bring somethin’ in here?”

Jenner narrows his eyes at Daryl, and just repeats, “Price of admission. I told you that.”

Carol mutters, “Daryl, it’s fine, just let him do it,” and Daryl scowls, but relents.

Sophia whimpers, and Carol’s trying to soothe her. Daryl’s next up, and Jenner jams the needle into his arm a little harder than strictly necessary.

Daryl glowers at him – he’s always hated needles, he was much older than he should have been the first time he realized doctors used them too, he's always tried to stay far, far away – but he’s not going to give this asshole the satisfaction.

Andrea’s last, and when she almost faints, the guy pulls his head out of his ass and offers them food.

\--

Dinner’s good, but the SoCo’s better, and he can’t believe he’s on his way to getting drunk around these people. He’s actually having _fun_ , which is fucking shocking, because he can’t remember the last time he actually had _fun_ , real _fun_ , and he’s even _teasing Glenn_ , which is absolutely beyond comprehension.

He's never been a happy drunk - he's either an asshole or in a half-dazed stupor - and he's never been around happy drunks, either. Only ones that get mean or start crying or curl their fists or set fires while they sleep. 

And it's just _weird_ being around people he doesn't really know, drinking without anger or cruelty, watching _other_ people have fun and feeling like maybe this time he'll fit in. This time he'll let his guard down. This time it won't go to shit.

Carol’s laughing along, and when Jacqui offers her a glass of wine, she says, “Oh, alright. Twist my arm, why don’t you.”

Daryl frowns at her from across the table. “You sure that’s okay?”

He tries not to, but his eyes flicker automatically to her tits, and he knows she saw it when she smirks.

Goddammit.

“Yes, dear, it’s fine,” she says sardonically, and he blushes.

But he can’t even find it within himself to get pissed off, because _he’s having fun_. It must really be the end of the world.

Of course, Shane takes it upon himself to ruin the mood, and asks the big question, and so the atmosphere tanks, and the table grows tense.

Glenn’s right. What a fucking buzzkill.

\--

Everyone decides to turn in, and Doc shows them to their rooms, and they file in, one-by-one.

There’s more than enough for Carol and Daryl to sleep separately, but when he walks into a room and dumps his bag next to the couch, he’s surprised that she follows him.

She must see it on his face, because she stammers, “Oh, sorry, I just – sorry, I can –” and Daryl cuts her off.

“Don’t care, just didn’t expect it. If you wanna stay, go ahead, whatever.” And he means it – which is also surprising. He’s never been one to spend a lot of time with anyone besides Merle, and even then half the time he was just fucked up one way or another.

There's a decent chance that it's just because he's halfway deep in the bottle, and he'll regret it come morning, but he's not really interested in spending too much time on that train of thought.

As of right now, she isn’t really bothering him. If she feels better staying with him, then fine, whatever.

He tugs some blankets out of the closet and grabs a pillow off the couch, and tosses them on the floor.

Carol raises her eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“The hell's it look like I'm doin'? Makin' a bed.”

Carol scoffs. “No, Daryl. Jenner literally said there are cots in storage down the hall. You’re not sleeping on the floor with only a thin blanket underneath you.” She sees him about to object, and she adds, “Not to mention that _I_ took _your_ room, so you’re taking the couch, I’m taking the cot.”

“Fuck no.”

“Daryl…”

“Ain’t gonna have you sleepin’ on the fuckin’ ground.”

“ _Daryl_.”

He waves her off. “Go take a shower.”

Her jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

“Saw how your eyes lit up when he said hot water. Go. I’ll watch Sophia.”

Carol closes her mouth, and quirks her lips, but doesn’t say anything else. She pulls a robe and towel from the closet, hands off Sophia, and heads to the bathroom.

Daryl takes another swig from the SoCo bottle, and with a pang realizes that this is probably right out of his mom’s playbook – baby in one arm, bourbon in the other, and he places it to the side without a second thought.

Sophia’s just looking up at him, and after a little while, his arms get tired, and he figures he can probably put her on her stomach for tummy time. Stupid name.

He lays her down and she makes these weird twisting motions, and starts whimpering.

He frowns and picks her back up. “What’s wrong, girl? Somethin’ hurt?”

As soon as she looks at him she quiets down, and he checks her over. Nothing seems wrong, though, so he walks a few feet over and lays her down again, in case there was something sticking up from the floor.

But as soon as she’s on her stomach, she’s whimpering again, and he pulls her back up, feeling guilty when she smiles at him.

So he lays on his back and places Sophia on his chest, like he's seen Carol do, and he’s rewarded with a huge, gummy smile.

He doesn’t bother biting back his own this time, and after a while he even gives in to the urge to talk to her, just a little bit.

“Hey there, sweetheart. Whatchya thinkin’?" He shifts around for a moment, and catches a whiff of his armpits. "Thinkin’ I ain’t smellin’ too hot? Well, you ain’t one to talk, shitty diapers and pukin’ on my pants, stinkin’ up the whole damn world.”

She doesn’t have anything to say to that, but her smile doesn’t fade, so he keeps going.

“Droolin’ on my shirt now, huh? I once told your momma, babies are damn gross. I was right. Still am. Ain’t never cared much for this shirt, though, so I ain’t gonna hold it against you. Old as shit. Fallin’ apart, already lost a button.”

He falls silent, and just looks right back at her, and something warm grows in his gut.

It’s a second before she wrinkles her nose, and her face turns red, and he groans, “No, no, please don’t, ugh –” but it’s too late.

God _damn_.

He picks her up, pokes his head out in the hallway, but doesn’t see Carol anywhere and figures she’s milking the first hot-water shower she’s had in months for all that it's worth. 

So he just sighs, rummaging around in Carol’s bag, and brings two rags into an empty bathroom.

As he's walking back to the room, Sophia cleaned up and freshly diapered, he runs into Carol and Glenn lugging a cot through the door.

They dump it on the ground, and she asks, “Had some excitement while I was gone, huh?”

Daryl snorts. “Yeah, one word for it.” He passed Sophia off to her, and says, "Gonna shower, feel fuckin' gross now."

Carol smirks, and Glenn follows Daryl out the door.

Just before Daryl walks into the bathroom, Glenn nudges him with his elbow. "Trouble in paradise, huh?"

Daryl furrows his brow. "What?"

Glenn juts his chin towards the room, and says, "The cot. You in trouble or something?"

Oh.

Little shit.

Daryl scowls, and Glenn just smirks and walks away.

\--

Daryl quickly towels off and pulls his filthy clothes back on, and when he enters the room, he walks in on Sophia's dinnertime, and he ducks his head.

"Just - uh, gonna head to the kitchen, want anythin'?"

"No," Carol says, but he can almost _hear_ her roll her eyes.

He leaves the room and fiddles with the cabinets in the kitchen for a few minutes, snagging a granola bar for lack of anything better to do, and when he's pretty sure she's finished he heads back in.

He was right, and as he settles himself into the cot, Carol says, "I figured it's happened enough that you wouldn't have to bolt out of the room by now, Daryl."

He shrugs, picking at his cuticle. Somehow just waking up and not leaving the tent feels different than barging into a room and sticking around. More intimate, or something. Just weird. 

"Anyway. What do you think?"

He feels his cheeks turn pink, and she says, "Not _that_ , Daryl, will you stop? I meant, what do you think about being here? Jenner? All of it?"

"Don't matter."

"I wouldn't be asking you if I thought it didn't matter, Daryl. I want to know your opinion."

He pauses, turning that over in his head, and takes a swig from the bottle. Fine. He'll piss all over her parade if she really wants.

"Think it's too good to be true. Think it's fuckin' weird that he's the only one that stayed. What, was he plannin' on stayin' here by himself for the rest of his life?"

Carol cocks her head. "Why the rest of his life?"

"'Cause he was gonna leave us out there. Didn't wanna let us in, even though we got a baby and a kid and a bunch of women. Hard to find a more sympathetic group."

Carol simply _hmm_ s at that, and an uncomfortable silence falls between them.

He _knew_ he was going to piss on her parade, but he still feels a little bad about it. So he adds, "Hope I'm wrong, though. Food was damn good." He sloshes the bottle around, and says, "Liquor's damn good, too."

"Watch that you don't drink too much, you'll be in for a nasty morning."

Daryl scoffs. "Now you really actin' like my old lady." And he takes another swig for good measure.

Carol chuckles, and when Sophia's burped and whimpering for sleep, she lays her down in the bassinet. Her eyelids flutter for a few moments, but then she's out, faster than Daryl can believe.

He's damn tired too, though, and when Carol hovers her hand over the light, he nods, and the room is plunged into darkness.

As he's falling asleep, Carol murmurs, "Were you married before all this?"

He groans. "Wakin' me up for dumbass questions?"

"Oh, sorry."

He shrugs, and realizes she can't see him. "Whatever."

A beat passes, and she asks, "So... were you?"

"Was I what?"

" _Married_ , Daryl."

"Oh, right." He's drunker than he thought. But then he actually processes what she's asking, and makes a dismissive noise.

"Is that a no?"

"Hell yeah, that's a no. Ain't never been the settlin' down type."

He can hear the smirk in her voice. "Eternal bachelor, huh?"

"Stop." Please. He can almost hear Merle's voice. _Gotta get laid to be a bachelor, baby brother._

"What? It's not such a wild question. You've been a good fake husband to me."

" _Stop._ "

She chuckles in the dark, and he's grateful that she can't see his blush.

No, he's seen plenty of what 'settling down' looks like for Dixons. He's not going to continue that pattern. And even if he hadn't grown up in the hellscape that dominated his childhood, he was usually too fucked up with Merle, drifting from one waste of a day to the next. Nobody's interested in dealing with a borderline alcoholic redneck asshole - _he_ barely tolerates himself, and Merle's reminded him plenty of just how much he's really worth to anyone else.

Some fake husband he's been, too - snapping at her and getting irritated with the baby, scheming with Merle on how best to rob them and then trying to abandon them as soon as Merle split. All he needs to do is land a few hits and pull out the belt as soon as the kid can walk, finish the chapter in his old man's book.

And there it goes - the predictable slide into the self-loathing asshole he is, magnified by the liquor and evaporating what little good mood he had left.

He turns on his side and when she asks, "How long do you think we have here?" he pretends not to hear her, and soon enough her breathing evens out to the point where he knows she's asleep.

When the baby wakes up later he pretends not to notice, and eventually he passes out too.

\--

He's got the mother of all hangovers the next morning, and he figures it's because he's been sober for a while now - his stomach's roiling and his head's pounding, and even thinking about a little hair of the dog makes him want to puke.

He heaves himself up out of bed, noticing that Carol and Sophia are gone, and he's torn between eating his weight in greasy, shitty food, and starving himself until the nausea's gone.

He stumbles to the bathroom, tries not to gag while he brushes his teeth, debates showering, but his stomach growls at him and he figures that's as good a sign as any to scarf down a plate or six of bacon and eggs.

He makes his way to the dining area and when Carol sees him, she teases, "Good morning, sunshine."

He grunts and makes a beeline to the coffee, half-listening to the back-and-forth between Jenner and Dale, and before he knows it T-Dog's shoveling powdered eggs onto his plate.

He grunts his thanks and doesn't bother with a fork, ignoring the wrinkled noses at the table, and Lori slips him some Tylenol.

\--

They make their way to the computer room and Jenner spouts some science nonsense before showing them a video of how he shot his patient in the head.

Then he tells them he's got no clue how to fix it, he's all that's left, and Daryl decides now's as good a time as any to get shitfaced drunk again.

When Carol and Sophia head to the playroom, Daryl trails off to his room and makes good on his decision.

But everything turns off, and Jenner snags the bottle out of Daryl's hand, ignoring his questions and acting shady. 

And then he tells them they're done for, locked in with minutes to live, and instead of sitting around crying with the rest of the group, Daryl and Shane take axes to the doors.

But when the axes grow duller with no sign of progress, they head back to the group, and Shane says, "Can't make a dent," breathing heavy with exertion.

Doc says, "Those doors are designed to withstand a rocket launcher."

The sheer condescension dripping from his voice, combined with the _unbelievable_ arrogance of trapping them underground to die, makes Daryl see red, and he charges at Jenner with the axe.

He's a _survivor_ , goddammit, he didn't live through the shit he's seen just to have some fancy asshole tell him to fuck off, and fuck if he's going to let this stupid sonofabitch murder everyone. Murder a goddamn _baby_.

They stop him before he can do them all a favor, though, and T-Dog yanks the axe from his hands.

Then Shane tries to kill the guy, and they all start rambling about hope and begging and pleading for their lives. Fuck that. Daryl's a doer, not a talker. So he takes the axe back and starts whaling at the door, and with four minutes left they finally, _finally_ slide open.

Jacqui and Andrea stay behind, and for a moment Daryl wishes he could say goodbye.

They run upstairs, and when the main doors are sealed, Daryl and Shane take their axes to the windows with no success, and T-Dog's chair and Shane's shotgun don't work either.

He's frantically trying to think of something, _anything_ to get them the fuck out of there, but he's coming up empty. Is this really it? They made it through the world of shit just to get fucking _blown up_ by some self-righteous asshole? 'I told you that', he'd said, as if he wasn't cryptic as fuck about it all, like the fact that he conveniently forgot to mention that _they will blow up if they come inside_ , as if they were supposed to assume that when he welcomed them in, telling them _the doors won't open again_.

But Carol's their saving grace.

"Rick, I have something that might help," she says, digging around in her bag.

Shane sneers. "Carol, I don't think a nail file's gonna do it."

Fucking asshole. Daryl shoots him a dirty look, but Carol just ignores him. "Your first morning at camp, when I washed your uniform, I found this in your pocket."

She pulls out a _grenade_ , of all things, and Daryl's speechless. How the hell did she hold onto that without him realizing it? Why the hell did she think to bring it into the CDC? Who the hell would have expected her, quiet mother of an infant child, to save their lives?

She'd put on that ditzy, warm, welcoming act at first to get everyone else to let their guard down around her, and over the last few days it's seemed she's become more genuine with them. Dropped the act. But they've underestimated her. _Daryl_ underestimated her.

Daryl and Carol take cover by the doors, still too close to the blast for comfort; the windows shatter and they haul ass outside, but Sophia's screaming louder than Daryl's ever heard, even louder than she was during the quarry attack, and the walkers keep coming.

" _Go!_ " Daryl shouts at Carol, "I'll get 'em, just get to the truck!"

He turns and makes his way through the yard, shooting and hacking and counting down the seconds until the place blows, and he makes it to the truck with seconds to spare.

"Get down!"

Carol slides down to the footwell, cradling an inconsolable Sophia, and Daryl dives onto the seat, slamming the door shut behind him, and he _feels_ the building explode, a ripple in the air, before the sound nearly deafens him.

For a moment he thinks that's it, they're too close, done for, but then it's gone in a matter of seconds, leaving nothing but burning shrapnel and a ringing in his ears.

He slowly lifts his head up, blinking at the ruins and shaking his head, trying to clear the blurred vision and muffled sounds, and it sends a throb through his temples.

It seems like everyone's too shell-shocked to do much of anything, and when his brain starts processing everything around him again, he realizes that Sophia's still screaming, an unholy howl that sends a flash of fear down his spine and sick feeling in his gut.

"Carol, Carol, get up, it's over," he says, and he's sure it's too loud, he can barely hear himself speak, but she turns her head to him blinking, looking disoriented but no worse for the wear.

She holds Sophia out to him and he shifts her into the crook of his arm, extending his hand to help pull Carol up.

It's then that he notices a smear of red below Sophia's ear.

"What -?" he mutters, blinking again and again, and everything starts coming in focus, and the smear of red becomes sharper, more defined, and he realizes it's a trickle of blood.

"What?"

"She's got -" and he tries to brush it away, and Sophia shrieks, sharp and hard, and a bolt of guilt flashes through him.

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry," Carol says, and she silently begins to cry as she takes Sophia back from Daryl.

The caravan in front of him starts to move, and he glances over at her. "Okay if I -?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

He follows the rest of the group out, hoping against hope that Fort Benning has someone who knows what to do.

His gut tells him there's nothing there, there's nothing _anywhere_ , but what the fuck else are they going to do?

\--

Eventually, Sophia passes out from exhaustion, and a few minutes later they come to a stop, a safe distance away from the CDC.

Daryl hops out, and it's decided that his truck and Shane's Jeep will be left behind to save on gas.

Daryl hesitates; he should probably be with Carol and Sophia, just in case she wakes up - although fuck if he knows how to help aside from sitting around feeling bad for her - but there's a prickle in his eyes when he thinks about ditching Merle's bike on the side of the road.

He's got nothing else left of his brother now. The bike attachment on the RV isn't made for motorcycles, and they don't have anything to tie it to the top of T-Dog's van. Merle's hand is buried at the quarry, his clothes were blown up at the CDC, and short of stashing his bag of meth under a seat in the van, the only way he can justify leaving else everything behind is by taking the bike.

Carol must notice his reluctance, though, because she says, "Daryl, why don't you lead us on the bike? If we run into another traffic snarl you'll be able to find a path more easily than us."

He looks at her, and she's got a sad smile on her face - silently telling him it's fine, and he nods at her in gratitude.

And so they head off, Daryl in front, and on their way to Fort Benning.

\--

But nothing's ever easy, of course, and they come across a traffic snarl just as the RV breaks down.

He starts pulling supplies from a stranded car, and when Lori's hesitant, he pauses only for a moment before rummaging through the trunk again.

Yeah, it's fucked up - they're graverobbers here, more or less, but they don't have the luxury of passing on food or water or gas or whatever the fuck else they can find. Might as well put these sorry corpses to good use.

As Carol steps out of the van, he shakes his head. "Nope. You're stayin' right there. Get back inside."

"It's a hundred degrees in there, Daryl. And I'm not just going to sit back and watch while everyone else makes themselves useful."

"You makin' yourself useful by keepin' her asleep 'fore she starts hollerin' again."

It's true, for the most part - they've got plenty of people searching cars here, it's not like they're short on manpower, and if Sophia wakes up she'll be in a world of hurt again, that much is obvious.

But part of him hates that there might be dead kids here, too. There was only one at the bridge, but there's a hundred more cars here than there were there, and he doesn't want to take any chances.

It's shitty for anyone to find them, especially Lori, but _especially_ Carol. Bad enough raising a baby in all this by herself without the reminder of just how close to death Sophia will be for the next fifteen years.

Carol glares at him, but reluctantly sits on the edge of the seat in the van, watching the rest of them work with a frown on her face. 

She's got the door open so that the kid doesn't suffocate, but that's good enough for him. 

And of _course_ they've got shit luck, because why the fuck would anything go their way, and a herd is a hundred feet away before they know it.

He catches a glimpse of Carol shutting the van door in front of her, and there's not enough time for him to run over to her before getting caught.

Besides, that's just when T-Dog slices the shit out of his arm, and Daryl just yanks a dead one on top of him before doing the same, hoping that's enough to mask the smell of fresh blood.

There's a scream coming from the direction of the RV, and when it abruptly cuts off, he hopes it's for a good reason.

Eventually, they start to thin out, and for a moment he thinks they're in the clear, but then he hears a sharp, muffled wail, and his heart sinks. If he can hear it halfway across the street, the walkers can hear it too.

He risks peeking his head up, and the closest walker to him is a dozen feet away, ambling along by itself, and he takes it out with a bolt to the head.

He shoves at T-Dog until he's propped up against the RV, and he can see about a dozen walkers having broken off from the herd - thankfully a ways up the road - but they're crowded around the van, and he can hear it creaking as they shove at it.

Fuck.


	7. Chapter 7

There's not much time left before the van tips, or one of the walkers break through the windows, or Sophia's screaming calls more of them back from the rest of the herd that's a good way away now, and Daryl's heart is in his throat, at a complete loss for what to do.

There's too many of them for him to pick off, even with everyone else helping - there's a good chance they'll get surrounded before they can make a dent.

But as he's running through his total lack of options, Carol jumps out of the van, hopping over the railing and into the woods with a somehow-muffled Sophia in tow.

He and Rick race after her, but the walkers have a one-track mind, and they don't get winded.

So Daryl shouts to Carol, "Go! Make a trail, I'll draw 'em off and find you!"

She spins on her heels, ready to argue, but she must see the walkers following closely behind Rick, and just nods, running deeper into the woods, and as she goes Daryl watches her rip some leaves off of low-hanging branches.

Good.

He and Rick begin to whistle, shout, toss rocks and stomp their feet, and once the walkers turn towards them, they tread slowly enough for the walkers to follow from a safe distance.

An hour or two pass, and Daryl's worried about losing the light before he can find Carol. So he and Rick wordlessly agree to speed up and climb the trees, wait out the walkers until they can double back.

He hasn't climbed a tree since he was a kid, and it's a pain in the ass to do with a crossbow dangling from his back, but he scrabbles up just in time to see the first walker shuffling at the base of the trunk.

Rick nods at him a few feet away, and they wait in silence.

\--

Daryl's in the tree for what feels like days, watching the dead bastards below him chew on the remains of an unlucky rabbit that darted across their path, and listening to the thunder rumble above them, when finally, _finally_ they amble off, and as he catches Rick's eye, he motions to Daryl to sit in the tree a little longer. 

Fucking _duh_.

Another two or three years pass before they've deemed it safe enough to drop down, and as they turn back towards Carol's direction, the sky opens up, and the two of them are drenched to their bones in seconds. 

Daryl's heart breaks in two, and a sick pit settles in his stomach. 

He can't stand the sympathetic look on Rick's face, and when he reaches out to clap Daryl's shoulder in what's probably supposed to be a comforting gesture, Daryl flinches and casts Rick a desperate look.

"Daryl, we'll never find her in this. Her trail's going to wash away if it hasn't already."

"Don't you think I fuckin' know that?"

To his credit, Rick doesn't take offense at his tone or suggest they have a rational discussion or whatever other egotistical dumb shit cops like to pull, and after another moment or two Daryl starts walking back to the interstate without another word. 

When they get there, Daryl doesn't bother looking at anyone, knowing they'll be wearing the same expression of sympathy and worry and he can't fucking handle it. He simply climbs up to the roof of the RV and motions to Dale that he'll take over watch for the rest of the afternoon. 

Everyone files into the RV in an unspoken agreement to not get separated, and after an hour or so Daryl hears church bells, faintly ringing in the distance, and sticks his head through the vent.

"Y'all hear that?"

Andrea nods. "Yeah, maybe Carol heard them too."

But as she's speaking, the bells abruptly cut off, and after another few moments it's clear they're not starting up again.

"We can't go after 'em, man. No way to follow."

Daryl fucking hates that Shane's right.

"We'll pick it up at first light," says Rick, and there's a tone of finality to it that irritates Daryl.

He pulls himself back up to the roof, staring into the forest and hoping against hope that Carol will walk through unscathed.

\--

He's not sure how much time passes, but eventually Dale climbs back up.

"You won't be use to anyone tomorrow if you don't get any sleep, son."

Daryl hesitates, but Dale's right. He's not interested in passing out on his feet halfway through the morning. Especially since it'll be the blind leading the blind.

He steps into the RV, noticing that there's not a square inch of space for him to sleep. Nope. Not about to pack himself into a can of sardines. He hisses to Glenn, curled up in the driver's seat, "Gonna go sleep in the van."

Glenn nods, and Daryl walks over to the van, just barely restraining himself from slamming the door shut, and makes himself comfortable.

It takes a while for Daryl to drift off, and he realizes with a pang that he's gotten used to falling asleep to the sound of Sophia's soft, even breaths.

\--

The next morning, he's up as the sun's rising, and starts hammering on the door to the RV.

Everyone ambles out, yawning and grumbling and rubbing their eyes at the early wake-up, but Daryl doesn't give a shit. 

They make their way into the forest, and within a few hours they stumble upon a church. 

"Church doesn't have a steeple."

Daryl points to a small box on the side of the wall with a bunch of wires sticking out, and says, "Coulda been a timer."

As they push open the doors, a walker with a knife lodged in its throat nearly falls on top of them, and once its brains are splattered across the steps, Daryl realizes -

"That's Carol's knife," he murmurs, and runs into the church. 

There's two dead walkers on the floor, and the blood around them is dry. 

Fuck.

"She was here, but it was a while ago." Daryl points to the blood stains, and Glenn nods. 

"She might've been the one to rip out the timer."

Rick says, "She can't be far."

"Do you think she went back to the interstate?" Lori asks.

Daryl's not really paying attention to the discussion, glancing around the side of the church and failing to see any further sign of Carol.

"Maybe, but she might not know how to get there," says Andrea.

"Alright, why don't we split up into groups?" Rick suggests. "Lori, Carl, and Glenn go straight back to the interstate. Shane and I will go west. Daryl, T-Dog, and Andrea can go east." 

Daryl's already heading off, and catches the tail end of an argument between Carl, Rick, and Lori. Whatever. So long as they get their asses in gear, it's not his problem.

They search the woods, but when they hear a single gunshot, distant to the west, they freeze. 

"You think that was her?" T-Dog asks, with an odd, strained quality to his voice. Daryl looks at him and he's sweating like a pig, pale and clutching the bandage on his arm. 

He doesn't look so good, but if he wants to press on, Daryl's not going to stop him. "Nah. She ain't stupid enough to shoot a gun out here. Draws too much noise. Hurts Sophia's ears, too."

They walk for a while longer, and as the sun sets they return to the interstate. But Dale's the only one there, and the RV's turned around. 

"Everyone get lost or somethin'?"

Dale shakes his head. "They're all at a farm nearby. Carl got shot. And Carol's with them."

"Nobody bothered to _wait_ for us?" Daryl asks frantically. 

"No, no, not like that, they're good people. They're taking care of Carl and Carol. Glenn came back and told me how to get there. C'mon, follow me."

Andrea and T-Dog climb into the RV with Dale, and Daryl follows them back on his bike, his heart in his throat. 

\--

They pull up, and Daryl runs to the house, hope growing in the pit of his stomach when he hears Sophia crying inside, muffled by the walls.

He bursts through the door and sees Carol standing unharmed in the living room, and he's rubbing at the prickling feeling in his eyes while the hope explodes into relief. 

She's got a pinched look on her face, though, and his relief quickly sours.

"What's wrong?"

"Sophia's got an infection. Ruptured eardrum, probably from the grenade at the CDC."

Carol looks exhausted - he's got no idea how long she's been staying here, but even with safe shelter, a screaming baby's gotta take it out of her. So Daryl beckons to her, and she passes Sophia over. 

"The hell is this place, anyway?" Daryl asks while he rocks Sophia, trying and failing to soothe her.

Carol shakes out her arms, flicking her wrists and rolling her neck. "It's Hershel's farm, he's a veterinarian. He was operating on Carl earlier."

"Was?"

"He's alive, in the room back there with Lori and Rick, but he was shot, the bullet split and they need special medical supplies to get all the pieces out." Carol grimaces. "He's not doing so well."

"How long's he got?"

"Not long," comes an unfamiliar voice behind Daryl, and there's an old man with a frown on his face. 

"You Hershel?"

The man nods. "Shane and Otis left earlier today to get the supplies, but we can't wait much longer."

Daryl juts his chin towards Sophia. "Can you give her my meds?"

"Meds?" Carol asks with a furrowed brow.

"Yeah. Got some Oxycycline in my brother's stash. Not the generic stuff, neither, it's first class. Some kick-ass painkillers, too." Carol's face only grows more confused, so he clarifies, "Merle got the clap on occasion."

He snorts at her obvious disgust.

Hershel asks, "Might I ask what else your brother may have gifted us?"

"Figure you got no need for crystal and X, but lemme know if that changes."

"Can Sophia even swallow pills?" Glenn pipes up, and Daryl realizes everyone, save Rick, Carl, and Lori, are crowded into the living room with him. He doesn't even know half of these people, but nobody else seems too worried about them.

Hershel shakes his head. "We'd be dissolving it into a syringe." He gestures to T-Dog, and adds, "Your friend has developed a nasty blood infection, too, but I used most of the antibiotics I already had with me on Carl. I asked Shane and Otis to look for some more while they're out, but right now we don't have enough for all three of your group to finish a full course."

A cold silence settles in the room, and before Daryl can stop it he has an awful thought as to how best to ration them.

"Enough painkillers, though?" Dale asks.

T-Dog says, "Give those to Carl, I'll go without. I've had worse."

Hershel nods. "There's enough for the baby, too, if you'd like."

Daryl casts a glance at Carol, and she cautiously asks, "Is that safe?"

"I'll give her less than what's recommended, just in case, but yes, it's safe."

Carol looks at Sophia, still wailing and red-faced, and says sadly, "Alright. Go ahead."

Daryl passes Sophia back to Carol and retrieves the bag from his bike, pulling out the pill bottles. Probably best for him to leave the hard shit behind.

When he walks back inside, Hershel's already preparing the syringe, and Daryl takes Sophia back from Carol's arms, firmly ignoring the heat rising in his cheeks from the soft smile Carol flashes him.

The pills are dissolved, and as Hershel administers it, Daryl says, "Gonna make a run in the mornin' for more meds. Where else can we go?"

"There's a pharmacy in town that we can check. I've gone a couple of times before," one of the girls says, and Glenn's a little too quick on the draw to volunteer to accompany her.

Dumbass.

Hershel presses his lips together in a small line - girl must be his daughter - but just says, "There's another small town east of here that has a veterinary clinic. I used to help out every once in a while. Other people may not have thought to look there, but the medications are the same. There's a pharmacy, too, but it might be cleared out."

He'll take it. "How far?"

"A straight shot is about six miles, but that's including two miles of woods between us. You would have to loop around on the highway instead."

"It's too blocked up to get there - we'd have to go on back roads, might be much longer," says Andrea, and Daryl's already shaking his head.

"Nope. I'm goin' there alone, takin' the bike. Don't wanna have to look out for you." He ignores the irritation plain on Andrea's face, and he asks, "Where is it, doc?"

Hershel's already pulled out a map and is circling it. "I'm not sure -"

He's cut off by brakes squealing outside and headlights shining through the windows.

Daryl watches as everyone runs out, while Hershel tells the blonde lady to stay with Carl. It must be Shane and whoever he went with - Odie? Otis?

The painkillers are acting fast - Sophia's wailing is already fading into whimpering, and Carol beckons back to her. "Give her here, I'll put her to sleep and show you where our room is."

Daryl shakes his head. "Nah, I'm gonna see what's goin' on with this shit. You go ahead, I'll take the tent. Don't wanna wake her up." She turns, and he realizes - "Oh, uh. This is yours."

He pushes her knife toward her, and she flashes him a small smile before taking it with her upstairs.

Daryl follows the rest of them outside, and Shane's the only one standing in front of the truck - judging by the sobs coming from the girl and Hershel's tone, the other guy didn't make it.

It's odd; Shane's got a shell-shocked look on his face, as if he's been through hell and back, and normally Daryl would chalk it up to watching someone get torn apart five feet away. It's how half the camp looked back at the quarry after the attack.

But not Shane.

Shane's never looked like this. And there's something about him that's pinging Daryl's radar - what it is, exactly, Daryl can't quite pin down, but it'll come to him sooner or later.

Lori and Rick head back to Carl, and the rest of them are standing awkwardly outside the house, not sure what to do with the girl sobbing in front of them.

Dale breaks the silence. "Let's all set up camp, we need somewhere to sleep tonight."

As they pull their supplies from the RV, Glenn asks, "Aren't you gonna stay with Carol?"

Daryl shrugs. "Sounds like Sophia's finally asleep. Don't wanna wake her up at the crack of dawn if I don't gotta."

Glenn just nods, following the girl back into the house, and the rest of them hunker down for the night.

\--

The next morning, Daryl is up and off the farm before anyone else wakes up, wanting to make the most of the daylight. 

The highway's blocked up, just like Andrea said, but he can weave pretty easily in between the cars, and once he gets to town, there's a pharmacy sitting right on the main strip. The shattered storefront doesn't inspire much confidence, but if he's here, he might as well check it out.

Sure enough, there's a walker behind the counter, and all that's left is some insulin and a few packs of Plan B.

Probably can't hurt. 

He kills the walker and stashes the pills in his bag, looking around the rest of the shelving for anything that might prove useful. 

Some baby aspirin, pantyhose, a bunch of makeup, and more vitamins than he can count. 

Those probably can't hurt either. 

He sweeps it into his bag - except the makeup, that would probably send a message he's not trying to make - and as he's debating whether or not to include an at-home blood pressure cuff, it all clicks.

Shane had the dead guy's gun, too. _That's_ what his gut was trying to tell him.

Damn, that's fucking _cold_.

Daryl shakes his head and walks back to the bike, scanning the rest of the strip. 

The town's surprisingly empty, but he's only passed a handful of houses, so maybe it really is just that small of a town. A florist, an auto shop, a shitty diner and a banged-up church are the standouts here. 

He loops around another few blocks before finally finding the vet clinic, and it looks untouched. The old man was right - nobody thought about it.

Daryl breaks open the storefront, and tries to ignore the rats circling the rot from long-abandoned cages, instead heading to the medical cabinet in the back room under lock and key. What the hell did they need to lock it up for, anyway? No way the painkillers here are even half as good as the ones in the pharmacy. 

Whatever. 

He manages to break off the lock with the butt of his crossbow, and as he's sweeping the contents of the cabinet into his bag - no point in looking at the labels, Hershel can figure it out - there's a faint crunching sound coming from the waiting room, as if someone's walking on the broken glass littering the floor. 

Daryl whips around, bow cocked and bolt aimed at the door, but the barrel of a gun peeks around the frame and he throws himself into the corner of the room before it fires.

Daryl manages to shoot off a bolt into the head of the asshole bursting through the door, but he can't reload fast enough for the two guys behind him, and the room's small enough that there's really nowhere to run. One guy grabs the gun off his dead friend and tries to shoot, but it's out of ammo - fucking stupid of them to waste the last bullet as a blind warning shot - and he runs at Daryl instead.

Daryl yanks a bolt out from the quiver instead and stabs it at the guy lunging at him, but his aim is off and it catches him in the collarbone. The guy screams and kicks Daryl in the gut and his back hits the floor _hard_ , and Daryl's momentarily winded. 

He hits Daryl in the face with the butt of the gun, smashing his head to the floor, and his friend stomps on his hand until he loosens his hold on the crossbow. 

Daryl manages to blink through his double vision and drive his thumb into the guy's collarbone, forcing out a river of blood until he backs the fuck off, and then he yanks the bolt out of the guy's collarbone and deep into his neck, feeling the arrowhead bounce off his spinal cord.

Almost immediately, Daryl's hit with a blinding pain in his side, and as he doubles over he hears the string on his bow snap. 

Fucker who stole it from him doesn't even know how to fucking use it, and that's probably the only reason why Daryl got a bolt to the gut instead of his head. 

He throws himself at the guy still fumbling with the bow, and knocks it out of his hands, grabbing the guy's head between his hands and smashing it into the floor until the pool of blood grows large enough to indicate that he's probably not getting back up.

Daryl flops down to the ground, completely fucking exhausted, and barely muffles his yelp when it drives the bolt further into his side.

God _fucking_ dammit.

His head's throbbing and he can feel the hot spread of blood dripping from his stomach, and the more he tries to focus his eyesight the worse it wobbles in front of him.

Fuck. This is not good.

He rips off his sleeves, ties them around his waist to keep from bleeding out, growing more woozy by the second.

And because nothing's ever easy, he can make out walkers groaning nearby - he can't tell if there's a herd outdoors or only a few in the waiting room, but they're so, so loud - and he struggles to his feet, eking open the door to the waiting room and finding a dozen walkers ambling around outside the store. 

Fuck.

There's only one window back here, and it's up higher than Daryl could reach, and even if he managed to climb up there somehow he'd never be able to fit through it. 

He pushes the guy with the banged-up head across the threshold into the waiting room, ignoring the searing pain in his side, to give the group of walkers something to distract them. Just in time, too - they spot him as he slams the door shut, arms outstretched, but he leans up against the door and can hear the sounds of tearing flesh. 

Poxy bastards. 

He guesses he's stuck here for the time being - or at least until the guy's bones are chewed clean. 

Fuck.

Well, if he's stuck, he's stuck, and with John Doe growing cold in the corner he figures now is as good a time as any to pass the fuck out.

\--

As he comes to, he can barely make out a shadow hovering over him, and as he tries to bring it into focus, Merle starts badgering him.

"Why don't you pull that arrow out, dummy? You could bind your wound better."

What?

"Merle..." _can't believe you're here_ , he tries to say, but he can't tell if Merle hears him.

"What's goin' on here? You takin' a siesta or somethin'?"

Daryl shifts around, trying to get up, but winces at the effort. "Havin' a shitty day, bro."

"Like me to get you a pillow? Maybe rub your feet?"

Asshole. "Screw you."

"Huh-uh. You're the one screwed from the looks of it. All them years I spent tryin' to make a man of you, this is what I get? Look at you. Lyin' on the floor like a used rubber." Daryl can barely focus, but Merle doesn't seem to notice. "You're gonna die in here, little brother. And for what?"

"The girl," Daryl rasps. "Baby's sick."

"You really are her daddy now, huh?"

"Shut up."

"'Cause I noticed, you ain't out lookin' for ol' Merle no more."

"Tried like hell to find you, bro." Daryl can feel himself growing weaker by the second, but predictably, Merle doesn't seem to give a shit.

"Like hell you did. You split, man. Lit out, first chance you got."

" _You_ lit out. All you had to do was wait. We went back for you, Rick and I, mhm. We did right by you."

Merle sneers in disbelief. "This the same Rick that cuffed me to the rooftop in the first place? Forced me to cut off my own hand? This him we're talkin' 'bout here? You his bitch now?"

Daryl's starting to lose it again, focus flickering in and out, but he manages, "I ain't nobody's bitch."

"You're a joke, is what you are..." and that's when Daryl starts to drift back into the darkness, catching only some choice words and reminders of how he's nothing but redneck trash, worthless to the group, and he passes out.

Merle rouses him again, and says to him in that dangerous, warning tone, "Hey. They ain't your kin. Your blood. Hell, you had any nuts in that damn sack of yours, you'd go back there and shoot your pal Rick in the face for me."

He must notice that Daryl's attention is waning, because he says, "Now you listen to me," and grabs Daryl's face, forcing him to look straight in the eye. "Ain't nobody ever gonna care about you except _me_ , little brother. Ain't nobody ever will."

A familiar refrain, one he's heard so many times that Daryl can't help but believe it.

Merle taps him on the chest again. "Come on, get up on your feet, 'fore I have to kick your teeth in."

He starts thumping at Daryl's foot, hard enough to bring him back from the brink, and when Daryl manages to clear his vision he realizes there's a walker chewing on his boot.

He slams his other foot into the walker's head until it's dislodged, and he lunges forward to yank out the bolt sticking from its neck into its skull. 

It immediately collapses onto Daryl, and as he shoves it off he realizes that the walker is John Doe from the corner. 

He must have been bit before they broke in. Maybe that's why they came in here? Looking for antibiotics? Dumbasses don't know by now that nothing works. If the jackasses at the CDC were too busy offing themselves to figure it out, no fucking way are a couple of Joe Schmoes onto a cure.

He scoots himself back from the door, inching it open wide enough to peek out again, but just as he does the remains of the guy he'd shoved over the threshold makes a growling reappearance.

 _Fuck_.

It forces itself through the door, eye level with Daryl, and he hefts himself backwards, trying to get away on autopilot, and when his hand brushes his crossbow he curses himself for leaving the bolt in the dead guy's head across the room.

Luckily, the walker's bottom half has been detached - never thought he'd be grateful to see intestines trailing along the floor - so it's moving as slowly as half a body can crawl, and Daryl's got a split-second to make the choice.

He pulls the bolt out of his side - _fuck,_ Jesus _fucking_ _fuck_ , it's about a hundred times more painful coming out than it was going in, there's no cuss strong enough to fucking _say_ it - and he tries to bite off the cry of pain as best he can, and when it won't load it he remembers that asshole snapped the string.

Can _nothing_ go right? Jesus fucking _Christ_.

He maneuvers himself so that the walker's head is level at his knees, and twists until the bolt's lodged deep in its skull.

His wound _screams_ at that, and he has just enough strength to kick the door closed before collapsing back on the floor in exhaustion, laying down for a few minutes to catch his breath.

Alright, well, that's enough of that. He's not doing anyone any favors pussying out like this, least of all himself, and he clenches his jaw in pain as he forces himself to sit up.

He re-binds his wound, folding up the rest of his shirt as a makeshift bandage. Son of a bitch was right - it's a hell of a lot easier without the bolt in the way.

But when he looks back out the door, the sun's already setting, and he curses himself for taking so goddamn long to deal with this shit.

Whatever. It'll probably be easier to get back by giving himself a night to rest, anyway.

Merle would have plenty to say about that, Daryl's sure, but there's not much else he can do.

\--

The next morning, the sun shines brightly through the small, shitty window, and his side's absolutely fucking throbbing.

He should have known - the second day's always worse. He could have used the adrenaline yesterday to force himself back, but what's done is done.

Daryl thinks back over yesterday, and no, Merle wasn't _actually_ there, but the asshole had a point - Daryl's never going to make it out if he doesn't toughen the fuck up. Merle cut off his own _hand_ , for chrissake - the least Daryl can do is get the fuck up and walk six goddamn miles, since no fucking way is Daryl going to be able to bear every bump in the road in the bike, let alone hold it upright. 

He creeps out to the waiting room, and the group of walkers that were there yesterday has dispersed, leaving behind nothing but the legs of the disembodied asshole that tried to kill him.

There's plenty of rats, though, and Daryl manages to hit a particularly fat one with his knife before it runs away.

He slices it open and eats it raw - he needs his strength up, and he doesn't have the luxury of cooking it over a fire right now.

He cleans out the backpacks the two guys had carried, and there's not a lot in it that's useful, but it's the principle of the thing. Assholes that try to kill him get robbed, and that's that.

They're the first two people he's ever killed, and he's got a sick sense of pride at his own savagery. It's true, anyway - he's redneck trash, through and through, and he might as well lean into the stereotype.

So he cuts off their ears and tugs out a shoelace to ring them around his neck for good measure.

Nobody fucks with him and comes out on top. Nobody.

He staggers out of the clinic, and he's off.

By his count, he's halfway back to the farm when his legs start to give out underneath him, and he hears crows circling in the sky above.

Then Merle appears down the street from who-knows-where, and sneers. "Please don't feed the birds."

Asshole.

"What's the matter, Darylina? That all you got in you? Throw away that purse and walk."

Daryl glares, but trudges along anyway. "I liked it better when you was missin'."

Merle laughs. "Come on, don't be like that. I'm on _your_ side."

Please. "Yeah? Since when?"

He makes it to Merle, and keeps walking, but the asshole just ambles alongside him. "Hell, since the day you were born, baby brother! Somebody had to look after your worthless ass."

 _Please_. "You never took care of me. You talk a big game but you was never there." Daryl pauses, and sneers. "Hell, you ain't here now. Guess some things never change."

He can hear the irritation plain in Merle's voice. "Well, I'll tell you what - I'm as real as your chupacabra."

"I _know_ what I saw."

"Yeah, and I'm sure them shrooms you ate had nothin' to do with it, right?"

He's so goddamn _sick_ of these taunts - Merle's not even _here_ and he's _still_ able to get under Daryl's skin, and he fucking _hates_ it. "You best shut the hell up!"

"Or what? You gonna come up here and shut my mouth for me?" Merle takes the same mocking tone as he'd done with Shane back at the quarry, and adds, "Well, come on and _do_ it then, if you think you man enough."

Daryl's made it to the forest line, and briefly considers leaning against a tree for a moment, just to catch his breath, but Merle snarls, "Hey. Kick off them damn high heels and _move_ , son."

It hurts, it fucking _hurts_ , the crossbow dangling from his hand and the backpack slung over one shoulder pull at his body, he can _feel_ the wound opening up despite the shitty bandage, but Merle just laughs.

"You know what? If I were you, I'd take a pause for the cause, brother. 'Cause I just don't think you gonna make it to the farm."

This tough-love bullshit is so fucking _old_ , and Daryl hates that it works on him. All this chest-beating and puffing up and rising to the challenge, that's all the shit that baits Merle, and Daryl's no fucking better.

He's got around two more miles left, he can just fucking _do_ this, the sun's beating bright and he's going slow as all hell but he can fucking _do_ it, just fucking _do it_ -

"Come on. Come on, little brother," Merle says, and somehow he's gotten ahead of Daryl, beckoning towards him. "Come on. Walk up to your friend Rick, give him a kiss for me."

All of a sudden, Daryl's got a second wind, and Merle's nowhere to be seen.

"Yeah, you _better_ run!" Daryl shouts, and he's gratified by the silence.

By some miracle of miracles, he doesn't run into a single walker the entire way back, and he operates on autopilot for the rest of the journey back, fueled entirely by a sense of spite.

At last he breaks through the other side of the trees, and can see the farmhouse just across the way.

He fucking _did it_. Fuck Merle, fuck his dad, fuck everybody who ever made him feel weak, he _fucking did it_.

But his glory is short-lived, because then Rick, Shane, T-Dog, and Glenn run up to him, and Rick's got his gun out _again_.

Daryl snarls, "That's the third time you've pointed that thing at my head. You gonna pull the trigger or what?"

Daryl hears a gunshot, and a split-second later there's a searing pain in his head.

He opens his eyes, and Rick and Shane are hovering over him. Daryl swipes a hand at where his head is burning, and sees blood smear across his fingers.

Rick and Shane haul him up, and Daryl manages, "I was _kidding_ ," just before everything blacks out again.

\--

When he comes to, he's in a bed and the old man's hovering over him, too close for comfort.

"The fuck you think you're doin'?" Daryl snarls, and he tries to bat him away but someone catches his hand.

"Hey, hey. It's okay. Hershel's just stitching you up."

He realizes Carol's on his other side, and it takes him another second before he realizes that his undershirt's missing, and his chest is on display. His _back_ is on display.

Daryl wiggles around, trying to pull up the sheet and turn around as best he can, but Hershel scolds him. "I'm almost finished, hold still."

Daryl glares at him, and Carol asks, "What on earth happened?"

"Damn near got myself killed."

"That much is clear," mutters Hershel and Daryl shoots a glare at him.

Carol interrupts. "You look a _mess_ , Daryl, what _happened_ out there?"

"Fuckin' got jumped - _ow_ , shit, _watch_ it, old man - by two assholes, bike's still back there."

There's a worried look on Carol's face, plain as day, but Hershel says, "Well, there's enough antibiotics for everyone to finish a full course - including you, what with these new injuries - and still have some left over." There's another tug at Daryl's side, and Hershel says, "There. All done." He looks him over, and adds, "You'd be doing yourself a favor by washing up, but I don't want you getting these bandages wet for a while."

Daryl shrugs, and immediately regrets it. "Just dirt and blood, ain't nothin' new."

The old man simply sighs, packs up his kit, and leaves the room.

Carol's still at Daryl's side, and seems torn.

"Spit it out."

She hesitates, and then says, "I can - there's some clean towels, and soap and water available here, if you need -"

Daryl realizes what she's getting at, and scowls. "Don't need no damn nurse."

"I'm not -" but Carol's cut off by Sophia's whimpers down the hall, and Daryl just barely catches himself from jerking his head towards her.

"Better go check on her," he says shortly, and Carol looks at him for a moment before walking out of the room and shutting the door gently behind her.

The last thing he hears before he passes out is Carol's muffled attempts at soothing Sophia.

\--

Daryl's lying in bed, bandaged and bored, when the door opens.

It's Carol, bearing a tray of food and a glass of juice, and he quickly pulls up the sheets. He twists around, trying to cover up his back without laying on his wound, but judging by the look on her face she knows what he's doing. Hell, she probably saw everything when he was getting stitched up, but he doesn't _like_ it.

Mercifully, she chooses not to comment, and instead asks, "How are you feeling?"

"'Bout as good as I look."

She purses her lips, and says, "I brought you some dinner. You must be starving."

It _does_ look pretty good, but he'd have to sit up to eat, which means showing off his back, which is not something he's going to do, so he just lays in bed and pretends not to notice.

She leans over, and he can't stop himself from flinching before she kisses him on the forehead.

He looks at her, bewildered - what the hell was that for? The last time they had any sort of contact, she'd clung onto him after watching half the quarry camp get eaten, and he'd flinched then, too.

He _hates_ that he does that - it's an inborn reaction, he's never been able to control it, and it's bad enough that Carol's already seen his back, he doesn't need to show her any more weakness.

So he just tries to cover it up by muttering, "Watch out, I got stitches."

Daryl chances a look at her, and she flashes him a small, sad smile. "You did more for my little girl these last few days than her own daddy ever did in his whole life."

Daryl scoffs. "He only had two months to act right 'fore he ate it."

Carol doesn't budge. "Those two months happened right at the outbreak, Daryl. He had plenty of time to act right." She pauses, and adds, "But if you still can't accept that, I know that what you did was as much for me as it was for Sophia. And you did more for _me_ these last two days than my husband ever did. Than _anyone_ ever did."

The praise is so goddamn uncomfortable, twisting and turning in his gut, and he feels like twitching out of his skin. He mumbles, "Didn't do anything Rick or Shane wouldn't have done." Hell, Shane _did_ do it for Carl. Murdered Otis in the process.

But Carol simply says, "I know." Another beat passes, and she says, "You're every bit as good as them. Every bit."

As she leaves, Daryl curls deeper into the bed.

Her words hit a little differently than they might have, what with Merle in his head all day, and for a moment he lets himself think about that before he starts picking at his food.

There's another knock at the door, and he says loudly around a mouthful of mashed potatoes, "What."

Rick enters, and shuts the door behind him. "I just... Thank you, Daryl. I can't thank you enough."

Don't these people get it? He doesn't _need_ it, he doesn't _want_ it, all it does is just remind him of what little good he's ever done and he hates how his gut twists tighter at it.

He just mumbles, "Whatever," and shoves another spoonful of food into his mouth.

Rick hesitates, and Daryl's ready to eat in peace. "Out with it."

"I wanted to make sure you knew - nobody blames you. You did what had to be done."

What?

His confusion must be evident on his face, because Rick clarifies. "The attack, I mean. Nobody blames you for it. The medication you brought back was _invaluable_ , Daryl. I really don't know how I'll ever repay you."

"The attack?"

Something like comprehension slowly dawns on Rick's face, and Daryl watches the blood drain out of it. "Did - I might be speaking out of turn, Daryl."

Daryl's not having any of it. "The fuck you _mean_ , an attack?"

"If Carol didn't tell you, I don't want to -"

"I don't give a shit what you want," snarls Daryl. "Tell me what the fuck happened."

Rick glances at the door, clearly willing Carol to walk right through, but when it doesn't happen and Daryl's irritation only grows, he relents. 

"We held a funeral for Otis the other day, a few hours after you left. Patricia was out at his grave last night. And she died."

"Died how?"

Rick sighs. "We were inside and heard screaming outside, we ran out and there was a group of walkers following Patricia, right to the porch. We were able to get them all but not before Patricia was taken down."

Explains why the old man was so short with him earlier. And why Carol was so twitchy.

"It was a lot like what happened at the quarry. One of Hershel's daughters was almost bit, too, right next to Patricia. She's not doing so well. She's catatonic in her bedroom downstairs."

Jesus Christ.

Daryl feels an unexpected bolt of guilt shoot through him, and as though Rick can read his mind, he says sternly, "Listen to me. This was not your fault. It would have happened either way, and without you doing what you did, we probably would have lost T-Dog, maybe Carl. Maybe Sophia."

Daryl swirls his spoon around in the mashed potatoes on his plate, and Rick takes that as his cue to leave.

Before he shuts the door, he says, "I mean it, though. Thank you."

After he leaves, Daryl considers the plate of food again, but he's lost his appetite.

He puts it on the bedside table and turns over, waiting to fall back asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, Carol wakes him up with breakfast, and when she sees his dinner cold and mostly untouched next to him, she sighs. "Not hungry last night?"

Daryl doesn't bother responding, and she swaps the plates out.

He doesn't mean to, but it's been on his mind since Rick told him and he can't help but blurt out, "Why didn't you tell me?"

She doesn't bother playing dumb. "Because. I didn't want you worrying right when you came to. Or feeling guilty. Focusing on anything but taking care of yourself."

He scoffs. "Ain't a little kid. Can take care of myself and handle some bad news."

He ignores the fact that actually, he _did_ spend most of last night stewing in a pot of guilt and self-pity, and the resulting self-loathing, and refused to eat because of it, but Carol changes the subject.

"Anyway. Are you up to some breakfast or should I take it back?"

He _is_ hungry, and at that his stomach growls, and Carol smirks. "I'll take that as a yes."

Daryl picks up a piece of scrambled egg, and drops it in his mouth. "Sophia okay?"

"Yeah, she's doing good. Not in quite so much pain now, I think. Even when she's awake she's crying, but not nearly as loudly."

"Where is she, anyway?"

Carol tilts her chin, vaguely gesturing to the hall. "Downstairs, she's still sleeping. Slept through the night, actually."

Daryl furrows his brows. "With the girl? Thought she was half-dead."

At that, Carol casts her eyes down, looking uncomfortable. "No, in the living room."

"On the floor?"

Carol nods, and he asks in an irritated tone, "Why the hell ain't you in Patricia's bedroom down the hall? Someone else take up residence?

Carol looks scandalized. "Daryl. She _just_ died. It's not - that's too insensitive."

"There's about a million other rooms in this place."

"Carl's in one, Beth and Maggie and Hershel have their own rooms, Lori and Rick have been staying in one - don't give me that look, they can't _both_ sleep on the ground while their son recovers from a _gunshot_ \- Jimmy's in another, and, well..." she gestures to Daryl.

Nope. Fuck that.

He struggles to get out of bed, and Carol winces. "I didn't mean -"

"Don't give a shit. You and the kid ain't sleepin' on the goddamned floor downstairs. Can sleep up here."

"Daryl."

"Nope."

She gives him an exasperated look. "I'm perfectly fine sleeping on the floor, Daryl. You don't have to coddle me."

"Ain't _coddlin_ ' you, just..."

He struggles to find the words without giving too much away, but judging by how Carol's face softens, she gets it.

"There's no danger of another attack, Daryl, it was a random, one-off event. They said it's never happened before. We're _safe_ here," she says gently, and he scoffs.

"Y'all use guns to fend 'em off, huh?"

She frowns, and he nods. "What I thought. Bring your shit up here, don't be fuckin' stupid."

Carol narrows her eyes at him, and he amends, "Stubborn. Don't be fuckin' stubborn."

She quirks her lips, and within the next few minutes, her pack is in the corner of the room.

\--

That night, after a long discussion - well, not so much of a discussion as an irritated outburst from Daryl - he's struggling to find a comfortable position on the floor, and Sophia's sleeping peacefully next to him.

As they lay there in the dark, Daryl's struck with a sudden thought. 

"Never asked. How'd you get here, anyway?"

Carol _hmm_ s at that. "Oh, yeah, I guess I never said. Well, I ran until my legs started wobbling, and then I ran some more - thank goodness Sophia had a pacifier, I don't know what I would have done - and once I felt like I was going to pass out, I sat until it started pouring, and Sophia started crying even louder. I was surprised, actually, because I heard some church bells not far off, so I went to investigate, but it turns out it was just a recording, so I ripped it out of the control box and tried to go inside - oh, good job, Sophia! That's a good girl!"

Daryl doesn't even bother wrinkling his nose at the smell of spit-up anymore. "Yeah, we saw that, day after. But there were walkers inside. I found your knife."

"Yeah," Carol says absentmindedly, "I killed a few but one of them came at me at a weird angle, I couldn't quite get it and my knife got stuck, so I booked it out of there. I tried getting back to the interstate, but I was apparently hours away in the wrong direction. Anyway, I came across Otis fishing in a nearby creek." Her voice grows softer. "He was - there was something about him that seemed instantly trustworthy, odd as that sounds. He offered to take me to a farm where he and his family could keep us safe, get the rest of you later, and... here we are?"

"This the same Otis that shot Carl?"

"Don't be like that, Daryl. That was clearly an accident. And he was right, after all - they _did_ take care of us. They're keeping all of us safe, right now."

Not _all_ , if Patricia's death means anything, but that's not very helpful.

There's a question on the tip of his tongue that he's not brave enough to voice - no, fuck that, he's plenty _brave_ , he just doesn't want to sound like a pansy, spill his heart out all over his sleeve - but Carol picks up on it anyway.

"There was something trustworthy about you too, Daryl. You know me, I'm not going to blindly follow the first warm body that comes along." Her voice drops even quieter, and there's a warm tone to it that cinches in Daryl's gut. "I knew right away that you were safe. And I was right."

They don't say anything else, but he's up for a long while after that, turning her words over and over in his head.

Seems like she's got a knack for that.

Carol murmurs into the quiet, "You can stay up here, you know."

"Already told you. You ain't gonna sleep on the damn floor."

She sighs. "I meant _with_ me, Daryl."

Something sick grows in his gut, and he refuses to respond to that.

Carol says, "I'll stay on your other side, so you don't have to worry about me bumping into your stitches."

He's not interested in analyzing his feelings, but he knows off the bat that Carol's misinterpreted it.

Whatever. Not going anywhere near that rabbit hole. "Ain't gonna risk it," he snaps, and Carol sighs.

"Daryl..."

She doesn't finish, and he doesn't care. He doesn't want her to.

Soon enough, she falls asleep, and he doesn't realize that he does too, until he wakes up to Sophia's cries a few hours later.

As she eats, Carol says, "If you're - I'm not _scared_ of you, Daryl. It's not like I think you'll try to make a move, or something."

The sick twist comes back, harder and more painful, and it pisses him off. He doesn't _like_ not knowing his body. Not understanding how he feels. He's got the basics down - anger, disappointment, grief, fear - nope, not thinking about fear - and yeah, sure, they all mostly just manifest _as_ anger, but still. He fucking _hates_ thinking about himself more than he needs to.

So he doesn't respond, and simply shuffles out of the room, wincing as the movement pulls at his stitches, and ignores her when she says, "Daryl! Come on, don't _leave_ ," and he shuts the door behind him.

He heads back to his tent, more slowly than he'd like, and pretends like he doesn't feel Dale's eyes on him from the roof of the RV.

The tent's just as uncomfortable as the floor, but no fucking way is he staying in that room a second longer.

\--

The next morning, he decides it's time to get the bike back before someone else snatches it, and Carol manages to catch him just as he's packing his bag.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"Gettin' Merle's bike."

"You can't," she says, and Daryl scowls.

"I'm fine."

She frowns. "Hershel said you need to _heal_."

"Yeah, well, I don't give a shit." He slings his backpack on, and just barely hides his wince.

Her eyes narrow. "Well, _I_ do. You don't need to be going out there and getting hurt any worse."

Daryl ignores her, hefts up his crossbow, sending a stripe of pain hot through his wound, and he can't hide his wince this time.

"Let me -"

"Just leave me be!" He snarls at her, and as he stomps over to Otis' truck, he mutters, "Stupid bitch."

He said it just loud enough for her to hear it, and when she doesn't respond he feels a sick sense of satisfaction course through him.

He starts it up, driving off the farm, and pointedly thinks of nothing but following the roundabout route laid out on Hershel's map.

When he pulls up to the bike, he realizes he's got no way to get it into the bed.

Fuck.

At least the group of walkers that were here last time seem to have cleared out.

He remembers passing an auto shop the last time he was here, and awkwardly turns the truck around, hoping they've got some junker parts that he could rig together.

When he gets there, it's even better - the garage doors are open, and there's nobody there - _and_ there's a large wooden pallet propped up against the wall.

He backs up the truck as close as he can get, and pushes at the pallet until it's leaned up against the bed. He winces - his stitches really can't take too much more of this, but he's got to drive the bike up. There's no way he can push it around.

He shuffles back to the bike, taking it as slow as he can, and when he passes by the flower shop, he notices the overgrown garden lining the front walk.

Daryl's tried to ignore how guilty he feels about the way he treated Carol - treats, really, because he manages to be a complete asshole every twenty minutes or so. He's tried to stuff it down all day and refuse to acknowledge it, but when he sees the Cherokee roses blooming through the bush the guilt hits him all over again, fresh and churning in his stomach.

He's got to make it right with her, he knows that. He can only imagine how many times she's been called that name before, and he hates himself for adding one more tick to the long line of hurt she must carry. She doesn't deserve it. Any of it.

Before he can think too hard about it, he plucks a rose and slips it into his pocket, trying desperately not to crush it while he walks. He reaches the bike, and as he hops on he sees a lone walker in the distance. It's far away enough that he's not too worried, but he needs to get going.

He starts up the engine, wincing at the rumble beneath him, and guides it to the garage, looping around to the back of the truck, and as he drives up the pallet it splinters.

 _Fuck_.

He's able to get the bike most of the way into the bed before the pallet shatters beneath him, and he falls off the bike onto the ground.

God _dammit_.

There's practically a new heartbeat underneath his stitches, but by some miracle it doesn't seem like they've ripped. Fucking _finally_ something goes his way.

They hurt like hell, though, and he wants to get the fuck out of here and lay down for a hundred years until the throbbing subsides. And he pointedly does _not_ think about what Merle would say.

He drives the truck back as slowly as he can, easing around the curves and clenching his teeth at every bump in the road, but he makes it without further incident.

He parks the truck as close to his tent as he can get, ignoring the grumbling from camp, and slinks into his tent to lick his wounds.

The solitude never seems to last long around here, though; Andrea comes by as he's busy poking holes in the screen with a bolt.

"Hey," she says, letting herself in, "This is not that great, but..."

She passes him a book, grimacing, and he flips through it.

"What, no pictures?"

Andrea's expression lightens, just a bit, and she says, "I'm so sorry. I feel like shit."

That's nice and all, but Daryl's never really been all that interested in apologies. He's a lot more used to beating the shit out of whoever pissed him off, or getting the shit beat out of him by whoever _he_ pissed off, and leaving it at that. So he just shifts around, mumbling, "Yeah, you and me both."

"I don't expect you to forgive me, but if there's anything I can do..."

Girl's doing all the beating up for him. "You were tryin' to protect the group. We're good."

She grimaces again, and it's clearly not enough to alleviate her guilt. And there's only so many women he can make feel like shit in one day. So just as she's letting herself out, he adds, "But hey, shoot me again, and you'd best pray I'm dead."

That gets a smile out of her, at least.

\--

The rest of the day drags on; Daryl tries to read the book Andrea brought him, but she's right. It kind of sucks. It doesn't help that he's also dreading speaking to Carol again, though.

He can probably count on one hand how many times he's apologized for shit he's pulled. But it seems like Carol's pretty good at pulling out guilt from deep in his gut. Because yeah, he feels like shit for the way he's treated her lately, but it's the attack, too. No matter what Carol and Rick say, he can't help but wonder if Patricia would have made it had he been here. They could have gone another day without the pills, it's not like it was do-or-die. And it was stupid of him to leave twelve hours after Otis died, too. People were already pretty shaken up about losing him - maybe an extra set of eyes could have seen the walkers while Patricia was grieving, since half the group was worried sick over Carl and the other half was in mourning. Everyone was distracted, straight-up walker bait, and he just _left_.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, he guesses, and the churning in his stomach grows fiercer, to the point that the smell of lunch cooking over the fire nauseates him.

And he catches a snippet of a hushed conversation between Lori and Dale, and it sounds like she's nauseated by it too.

Huh.

\--

Evening falls, and as dinner's getting wrapped up he watches Carol gather Sophia in her arms, and turn back towards the house.

Before he can think better of it, he blurts out, "Hey. Can I talk to you?"

She looks at him, wary and hesitant, but nods, and he gestures back to his tent. He wishes it could be a little more private, but his side's still fucked up and he doesn't want to walk more than he has to.

She climbs in after him, and sits Sophia in her lap, gently bouncing her up and down.

Daryl chews on his lip for a moment, and when the silence between them is too uncomfortable, even for him, he says, "Look, I'm sorry about what happened this mornin'."

He fiddles with a bolt laying next to him, and Carol sighs. "I know."

Daryl nods, dropping his gaze, and she adds, "But I've asked you not to speak to me like that again, Daryl."

"I know," he mumbles.

"I didn't deserve it."

"I know."

Silence falls again, and he feels a prickle of shame heat his face as he twirls the bolt in his hands.

She asks gently, "Was it because of last night?"

His refusal to answer must be good enough for her, because she says, "We don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to, but really, I didn't mean anything by it. I just - I'm sorry for offering, I suppose."

It's odd - she's rarely sounded so unsure of herself, and it seems like she's fumbling for words. As if she doesn't really know _why_ she's apologizing.

Truth be told, Daryl doesn't really know why he was so angry, and he's not sure what makes him more uncomfortable, the not knowing why or the apology itself.

Either way, he shrugs, and after another few moments she murmurs, "You're welcome to stay with me, Daryl. Anytime. I mean it." He glances up at her, and she smiles. "I like having you around."

A little twitch of something that feels suspiciously like pride flickers in his gut, and she leaves the tent without another word.

He doesn't join her, but some of the guilt dies off, just a little, and he realizes he forgot to give her the rose.

He pulls it out of his vest pocket, and some of the petals are a little crumpled, but overall, it's no worse for the wear, and he figures he'll just give it to her tomorrow.

\--

The next morning, they're eating eggs around the fire when Rick and Shane announce that they'll provide gun training for anyone who wants it, and predictably, Carl, Lori, Rick, and Shane start bickering about allowing Carl to go.

Andrea looks ready, and Carol's got a look on her face too. So Daryl offers, "If you wanna go, I'll watch her."

Carol smiles. "Yeah?"

Daryl shrugs. "Got nothin' else to do, 'cept sit around on my ass all day."

"Okay, yeah. I'd like that. Thanks." He nods, and she quirks her lips, but doesn't say anything else.

The rose is burning a hole in his pocket, but fuck if he's going to give it to her in front of everyone.

One of Hershel's daughters and her boyfriend - Beth and Jimmy, Daryl should probably remember their names - want to go too, and Glenn makes up some piss-poor excuse to back out of it.

Dumbass can't keep a secret to save his life. He clearly knows that Lori's pregnant, somehow - it shouldn't even _be_ a secret, seeing as how Lori's twitchy as all hell around Shane now and running off every time food's cooking, and everyone's fooling themselves if they think a newly-reunited married couple aren't sleeping together anyway.

As Daryl's scarfing down the last of his eggs, Carol hands him Sophia. "She already ate, burped, pooped, got changed, the whole nine yards. If she starts crying, just give her a pacifier, she might want to sleep. Or if not she might be bored, so -" and Daryl cuts her off.

"Ain't rocket science, Carol. Know how to handle her."

She quirks her lips again, and he can feel T-Dog's and Dale's eyes boring into the back of his neck, and he tamps down the urge to tell them to back the fuck off as everyone piles into the van for shooting lessons.

Daryl returns his attention to Sophia and she's making her weird little grunting-sighing noises, but judging by the way she's baring her gums at him and flailing her fists she's in a pretty good mood.

She's really, really cute.

He shifts her around in his arms, and she's mesmerized by the fire, flames gently flickering in the morning sun, and since everyone has vacated the immediate premises, he feels comfortable indulging in the stupid baby voice he's finding harder and harder to swallow back.

"Yeah? You like the fire, huh? Real pretty? Yeah, it's nice, real nice. Keeps us warm, and fed, and safe, and lets us see in the dark, it's good. Fire. Yeah. Fi-re. Dunno when you start talkin' but maybe that's gonna be your first word. Momma would prob'ly throw a fit if your first word weren't 'momma' but too bad for her. You say what you wanna say."

Sophia glances back at him for a moment, stuffs her fist into her mouth, and returns her attention to the fire.

"Yeah, fire's more interestin' to look at than me, I get it. Ain't gonna be offended."

He falls quiet, watching Sophia watch the fire, slipping his finger into her other fist, and Lori approaches him with a soft smile on her face, sitting in the chair next to him with a bag full of socks.

"You're a natural, huh?"

He shrugs. "She's a baby. Ain't that hard."

Lori snorts, comparing what look like two identical black socks and tossing one back in the bag. "You'd be surprised. When Carl was a baby, some of the neighbors were at a complete loss for what to do. Think I heard the phrase 'goo-goo ga-ga' coming from grown adults more often than I heard it from Carl." She finds a matching sock and bundles them up, digging through the bag for more. "One of the men actually tried to pull the 'Lion King' thing, you know." She holds up a pair of socks at an angle above her head. "Holding Simba at Pride Rock. Didn't let him get too close after that."

Daryl doesn't know what the hell that means, but it doesn't really seem to matter. Lori just sighs, glancing sadly at Sophia for a moment, and if Daryl didn't already know she was pregnant, that right there was a sign clear as day.

They fall into a comfortable silence, until Daryl grunts, "He doin' alright?"

"Carl?"

Daryl nods.

"Yeah, yeah. He's all good. Almost back to normal." Lori furrows her brows in concern. "Why, did you see something?"

"No, just... dunno." He shrugs, feeling a little prickle of heat on his cheeks. Stupid.

He can hear the smile in her voice when she says, "Yeah, he's good."

\--

Eventually, Lori's finished with the socks, and Daryl's arms are starting to go numb. So he climbs back into the tent and zips it shut, zipping the screens shut for good measure, too, and lays Sophia on his chest.

Almost immediately, she starts drooling, but her grin grows wider, and her weird little grunts speed up, and Daryl doesn't even think twice before doing his stupid baby talk.

"Sorry, kiddo. My arms were gonna fall off soon. You heavier than you look. You don't really seem to care, though. Dunno why you get so happy starin' at my ugly mug. Fire's nice. Trees are nice. Sky's nice. Dunno what else you look at, 'cept your momma, too, but I know you like lookin' at her anyway. Yeah. Walkers ain't so nice. You prob'ly seen just as many as me, ain't that crazy?"

Sophia wiggles around, and when she lifts herself up by her elbows, just an inch or two off Daryl's chest, he's shocked at the involuntary grin that splits his face.

"Holy shit, girl! Look at you! You gonna be crawlin' 'fore you know it. Damn. Knew you was smart. Book said some shit about doin' this at three, four months, dunno, but look at you! You got it down pat. Your momma gonna be so proud. She's proud already, but damn."

He can't remember the last time he smiled like this - it's crazy, what this kid is doing to him, he's never been some big softie like this.

He pushes Merle's voice out of his head - it's not his fault the baby's so cute, fuck. What the hell does Merle know, anyway.

After a while, Sophia's eyes start to flutter, and she lays her head flat on Daryl's chest. He's tempted to leave her there for a little bit - and _wow_ , who the fuck _is_ he? - but Carol said to always have her sleep on her back, and besides, he's going to have to get up at some point.

So he picks her up, gently shushing her as she whimpers, and lays her down on his bedroll where she quickly falls asleep.

He'd meant to carve some arrows while he was watching her, but he doesn't want to carve them in here and drop splinters all over the place, so instead he just flips through the baby book some more. It's more interesting than Andrea's stupid mystery, anyway.

It grows stuffy after a while, and he unzips the tent, catching a breeze just at the right time. He lays on his back next to Sophia, reading about reverse cycling - not looking forward to that, that's going to _suck_ \- and he hears the car pull up with everyone back from gun training.

They filter through the camp, not paying attention to how loud they're being, and he narrows his eyes in irritation - don't they have any goddamned respect?

As he's yanking the zipper shut again, Carol whispers, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," he grunts, and re-opens the tent for her, zipping it shut immediately after she sits. "Just... shh."

Carol quirks her lips at him. "Domestic, huh?"

It doesn't sound as condescending as when Merle says it, but he scowls on principle anyway. "Stuff it."

She smiles. "She give you any trouble?"

"Nah. She's a good kid."

"That she is."

He's tempted to tell her about Sophia getting up on her elbows, but he's sure she's done that in front of Carol anyway, and besides, he doesn't want to get teased again. So instead, he asks, "How'd you do?"

"Pretty good, actually. Rick says I'm a natural shot."

"Bet you are."

She smiles at him, and he hesitates for a moment before slipping his hand into his vest. "Hey, so -"

But Sophia starts crying, and Carol leans over to scoop her up, and Daryl knows that's his cue to leave.

He leaves the tent, only feeling slightly embarrassed at his shitty timing - what is he, some dumbass high school kid asking a girl to prom? It's a goddamn _flower_ , it's just meant to put her in a good mood. Apologize for the shit he's thrown her way, since he can't say it right.

He wanders around camp, looking for sticks to carve, and catches a hushed conversation between Shane and Lori.

"...carried on quite a bit before Rick got back, Lori. It's mine -"

"You're wrong."

"- you know it is -"

"You're _wrong_. I'm sorry. Shane, I'm sorry. But even if it's yours, it's not gonna _be_ yours. It's _never_ gonna be yours and there's nothing you can do to change that."

There's silence for a moment, and then Shane spits out, "I don't need to," and stomps off.

Damn.

Like a fucking soap opera with these people.

Daryl has no interest in lingering, though, and continues gathering sticks, bringing them back to the fire to carve.

\--

The sun sets, dinner is served, and Carol makes another wordless offer for Daryl to join her in the house, and he silently refuses. They made up, sure, but it's just weird now. He doesn't like it.

Rick takes Carl on patrol around the camp, and Lori follows Carol inside to relieve Maggie from watching over Beth.

Shane's been shooting him dirty looks all damn night, and Daryl figures it's because Shane somehow knows that Daryl eavesdropped. Whatever. If he's going to be a passive-aggressive pissant about it, that's his problem.

Daryl's arranging his stuff in the tent when Glenn asks, "Are you and Carol okay?"

"What?"

Glenn shrugs. "Just... Figured you'd be staying with her and Sophia in the house, but..."

Shane scoffs from where he's poking at the fire.

Daryl's eyes narrow. "You got somethin' to say?"

"Nope."

"Then shut the fuck up."

Shane returns to the fire, and Daryl doesn't bother responding to Glenn.

A few minutes pass before they hear muffled crying from the house, and when Daryl doesn't get up, Glenn says, "Aren't you worried about her?"

Daryl shrugs, taking apart Carol's handgun to clean. "Ain't her."

"What?"

"Ain't Sophia. She don't sound like that. Prob'ly the girl, Beth. Heard her cryin' last night for Patricia, too."

Shane scoffs again, and Daryl glares at him. " _What_?"

"You don't feel the least bit bad about that, do you?"

"The fuck is that s'posed to mean?"

T-Dog groans. "Please don't do this."

"It _means_ , Daryl, that you're pullin' the same shit Rick pulled at the quarry. It _means_ that you could have helped to protect this group if you were here. It _means_ that if you weren't out there nearly killin' yourself for no damn reason, maybe she'd still be alive."

Daryl ignores the sick guilt churning in his stomach again, not willing to tip off Shane that yes, actually, he'd done a fair amount of self-flagellation with exactly this line of logic. "No damn reason? Sophia and T-Dog not a damn reason now?"

"T-Dog's a reason." 

"You best watch your goddamn mouth," Daryl snarls, while Andrea snaps, "You can't _say_ something like that, Shane."

"Why not? It's _true_. Walkers probably came by after hearin' the kid scream her damn head off anyway, just a matter of time 'til it happens again. And next time, it might be one of _us_."

Daryl glares at him. "Nah, you'd just fuckin' throw Hershel or Maggie or one of _them_ to the walkers instead, right?"

Andrea scowls. "Let's not go for the character assassination, here. It's not helping anyone."

"Ain't outta line. Comes back with a dead man's gun and a thousand-yard stare? We s'posed to believe Otis died by accident?"

The group falls silent, and hate grows thick in Shane's voice.

"Comin' from a man who lied from day one about bein' married and havin' a kid? You think you're really in a place to be throwin' accusations around like that? Hell, maybe you killed her husband, too, lookin' for any warm body you can find." 

Fuck.

It's like a punch to the gut, Shane laying it out like that. Daryl's shocked into silence.

Shane's got a sick grin on his face, knowing he's finally gotten under Daryl's skin. "Yeah, that's right. We all know. Known since day fuckin' one. Doesn't take brains to see it."

Glenn whispers, aghast, "What?" but Daryl barely hears him.

"You best shut the fuck up if you know what's good for you!" Daryl snarls, pointing his finger in Shane's face.

"What's good for me is good for the _group_ , Daryl, and not only do we not believe a damn word that comes out of your mouth, but now you got Patricia killed, all 'cause you're busy doggin' after some woman and kid that want nothin' to do with you."

Daryl scoffs, rage building by the second. "You'd know all about that, huh? You go right ahead, kill who you want, it don't _matter_! No matter how much you want, Lori ain't gonna be yours! Carl neither! Ain't got _no_ kids, you cowardly sonofa-"

Almost before he finishes speaking, Shane lunges at him, shouting about he's an inbred white trash meth head and Daryl's shouting back about how Shane's a two-bit puffed up pig bitch and he gets some satisfaction from the blood dripping from Shane's nose, but it's short-lived when he feels his stitches rip.

Dale and Glenn are yanking Daryl back as Andrea and T-Dog shove Shane out of the way, and all the commotion has Maggie running out of the house, holding a shotgun.

"Get your goddamn hands _off_ me," Daryl barks, and Dale and Glenn back off, looking wary.

"What the hell's goin' on out here?!"

"Nothing, everything's fine, Maggie," Glenn calls, not taking his eyes off of Daryl, and Shane shoots Daryl a loathesome look before spitting blood out of his mouth and stalking off to god-knows-where.

Good.

Daryl swipes a hand across his wound, and yep, it's bleeding to shit, but fuck that. He'll deal with it later.

T-Dog whispers, "You really think he did that?"

Dale sighs. "I had my suspicions as well..." and as they begin debating it Daryl storms off into his tent, yanking the zipper shut so hard he's surprised he doesn't break it, and vows to get the hell out in the morning.

\--

Dawn breaks, and he begins packing up his supplies. He doesn't bother getting his bike - hell, taking down Carol's _tent_ is too much work, no fucking way can he manage to get the bike out - and as he's finishing up Carol finds him.

Wonderful.

"What are you doing?"

He ignores her, and zips the last pocket on his backpack.

"Are you _leaving_? Daryl, you can barely walk!"

He pulls up his crossbow, and doesn't bother to suppress the " _Shit_ , fuck," that slips out of him as it strains his wound.

"Daryl."

She can do this as long as she wants, but he's done. He's not sticking around to be made a fool any longer. Fuck that. No, there's a broken-down old chimney-looking structure up in the hills, he'll make camp up there just fine.

He heads in that direction, and hears Carol follow him.

"You _said_ you'd stop pushing yourself, Daryl, you could rip your stitches."

"Already ripped 'em. Don't fuckin' care."

He only gets a few more feet before Carol speaks again, and it sounds like she's on the brink of tears. "Don't do this. Please. Don't pull away."

He sneers. "Don't fuckin' matter. Ain't your _husband_ , ain't your _baby daddy_ , ain't nothin' but some asshole stupid enough to think this group somethin' worth dyin' for. No fuckin' way. Shoulda left when I had the chance."

"You don't mean that."

Daryl whirls around, pointing his finger in her face. "Don't tell me what I mean! You don't know shit about me, ain't never _gonna_ know shit about me!" 

"Daryl -"

"Just _leave me be -_!"

He catches himself just before he says it, and the look on her face tells him everything he needed to know.

So he whirls around and stomps off, and a sick sense of satisfaction pulses through him when he doesn't hear her walking behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

It takes him half the day, but Daryl finally manages to set up Merle's reeking tent without further injury, and he debates restitching himself before deciding it's just not worth the effort. It's not bleeding as much, anyway. Mostly.

It's quiet enough up here that he's able to snag a few squirrels for himself in record time, and he hangs their skins out to dry, next to his necklace of walker ears and an empty-can alarm system.

There's even some oak trees lining the property, and he does a half-decent job of pushing Carol out of his mind while he forages, until he gets back to his shitty camp and pulls the acorns out of his vest pocket, along with the rose he'd tucked inside.

That fucking Cherokee rose.

He tries to get out of his head as best he can, but it's futile; it's fucking _humiliating_ , playing house with total strangers, feeling some type of way about a baby that isn't his, and all the while thinking he was being real fucking sneaky about it. Of _course_ they fucking knew - he'd said to Carol himself that he's never been the type to settle down, and for good reason. Not just because the borderline-alcoholic drifter lifestyle is hardly appealing, but because he'd be a shit husband, just like his old man. A shit father, too. He's fooling himself if he thinks he's any better.

Hell, maybe they all _do_ think he killed her husband, just so Daryl could have her all to himself. Maybe they think he's forcing her into it for protection. Or threatening her with harm if she doesn't stay with him. Maybe they think -

A cold, sick pit settles in his stomach at the thought of what some men would do in his position, given half the chance.

And then he's struck with the realization - is that what she thinks, too?

_Fuck_ no, she doesn't. That's fucking stupid. She's had a million chances to get the fuck away from him, expose him for who he is - or, who she _thinks_ he is, at least, because he'd kill himself before he'd ever consider pulling that kind of shit - and if she really did kill her husband, it would have been a hundred times easier to kill Daryl, sleeping next to her all those nights with his guard down.

No, she doesn't think he's like that. She trusts him. She knows he's safe. She said that before - and it's easier to believe that, coming from her, when he has a pretty good idea of just how exposed she's been to unsafe men. She's confided in him, even. And he'd been able to spot her bullshit voice pretty easily back at the quarry, so it's a long shot that she bullshitted him, too.

He can't quite stamp out the thought though, and a voice that sounds suspiciously like Merle's mocks him. _Maybe she knew all along, huh? Maybe she just pretended to go along with it for your sake. Maybe they asked and she told them the truth. Maybe she pitied your pathetic ass, sniveling little bitch, begging for affection wherever you go._

And then it _is_ Merle's voice, ringing loud and clear: _Ain't nobody ever gonna care about you except me, little brother. Don't you forget that_.

He's still holding the rose in his hand, and has a sudden impulse to shred the goddamn thing, rip it apart and stomp it into the ground. When that familiar prickling starts at the corner of his eye, he gives in, and litters the dirt at his feet with the remains of the flower.

He's such a fucking pussy, crying over some dumb bitch that doesn't give two shits about him. He doesn't need _pity_ or _love_ or a new goddamn _family_. He can do just fine with what he's got. As soon as he's healed up, he'll go back looking for Merle. He _should_ have left when he had the chance, should have searched for his brother and ditched the group, but he didn't, and now he's paying for that betrayal.

He sets up a fire and throws his acorns on the ground. He doesn't need that shit, he's got mushrooms and meat and a few cans of miscellaneous food left.

He carves more arrows until the sun sets, and by then he's managed to temper the blood boiling in his veins to a simmer.

Until, of course, he hears a twig snap across his camp, and he snarls at Carol, "What are you doin'?"

She clearly hadn't heard him come up behind her, and she whips around, startled. "Keeping an eye on you."

"Ain't you a peach," he sneers, and she frowns.

"I'm not going to let you pull away. You're with us. You've earned your place."

_Earned his place_? As what, the resident hick rapist?

"Yeah, you made damn sure of that, didn't you?"

Carol blinks. "What do you mean?"

He points his knife in the vague direction of the camp, scowling at her. "You knew the whole time, right? Knew they all saw right through it?"

She grimaces, and his scowl deepens. "Daryl, I -"

"Save it. I don't give a shit. You can go look for some other sorry prick to lead around, I'm fuckin' _done_."

Carol's face smooths out, and she simply says, "Go ahead."

His eyes narrow at her. "Go ahead and _what_?"

But she doesn't respond, just watches him expectantly, and for some reason that irritates the shit out of him.

"Just _go_! I don't want you here!"

Still nothing from her, and he bites out, "You know, you're a real piece of work," something he's sure she's heard from her shithead of a husband. He's been around enough assholes like him to know what they say to their old ladies. And _how_ they say it, too.

But her face is blank, and without thinking he blurts, "What, are you gonna make this about my _daddy_ or some crap like that? Man, you know _jack_."

She doesn't say anything, but the look on her face tells him that in that moment, she sees right through him, and it enrages him.

He snarls, voice slowly growing louder, "You're _afraid._ You're afraid, 'cause you're all alone. You got no husband - no _fake_ husband neither, now - and you got some kid nobody wants hangin' around. You don't know what to do with yourself. You ain't my problem! _Sophia ain't mine!_ And everybody knows it!"

Daryl's _shaking_ with fury now, and when he gets in her face, shouting, "ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS _TELL ME_!" she flinches, and just like that, a thick wave of self-loathing coats his anger.

He steps back, eyes glittering dangerously in the moonlight, and she shakily exhales, holding his gaze for a moment too long before turning on her heel and heading back to the house.

The sick sense of satisfaction twists itself into his guts again, and he hates himself for it.

\--

Nobody bothers him for the better part of a week, and he spends most of his time in the woods, hunting and skinning and trying not to think about anything besides survival and how to track down Merle.

He's not successful, of course; there's only so many hours in a day he can spend cooking and whittling and looking for feathers, and it takes him too long to fall asleep at night before his mind takes advantage of the quiet.

He's a piece of shit. He knows that. Carol's forgiven him a hundred times over, and he keeps squandering it all away. Sooner or later she'll give up, and that will be that.

But it's better this way. His side is healing, and soon enough he'll be able to get the hell out of here, no loose ends and a clean conscience. Or so he tells himself.

Deep down, he knows it's a near-impossible shot - yeah, Daryl truly believes that Merle's out there somewhere, one hand short and pissed off. Nobody can kill Merle but Merle.

But where the hell would he have gone? He and Daryl never once talked about other plans, never discussed where they'd go after robbing the camp or what their options were. He wasn't there for the CDC-versus-Fort-Benning debate, and no way in hell would he still be wandering the streets of Atlanta anyway.

Daryl tries not to wonder if Merle's looking for him. He knows what the answer is, even if he refuses to admit it.

He's lost in thought as he cleans feathers for his arrows, and scoffs when he sees Rick walk up.

"Whole point of me comin' up here is to get _away_ from you people."

"Gonna take more than that."

Daryl hates himself a little for asking, but he can't help it. "Carol send you?" he mutters resentfully.

"Carol's not the only one that's concerned about you. You and your," Rick waves his hands vaguely at the sad little camp set in front of him, "self-imposed exile."

"Oh, man, I don't need my head shrunk," Daryl sneers. "I'm better off fendin' for myself."

Rick's eyebrows furrow. "You act like you don't care."

"Yeah, it's 'cause I _don't_ ," Daryl says with an air of finality, and for a moment it seems like Rick gets the hint.

Until he sighs, a heavy, put-upon thing. "This about what happened with Shane a few days ago?"

"Nope," Daryl says, but he knows it's a touch too quick.

"Look, Daryl, it doesn't _matter_. I know Shane can be a little... hot-headed, sometimes, but the truth about you and Carol really hasn't affected us that way. We trust you. _I_ trust you. We need you here. With us."

Daryl scoffs. "Didn't peg you for a desperate sumbitch."

"It's not about desperation, Daryl. Your opinion - your decisions, they make a difference."

"Man, ain't nobody lookin' at me for nothin'."

"Carol does. I do. T-Dog and Andrea do, too. _You_ chose to go find more medicine, and you brought it back. You saved us. Sophia, T-Dog, and probably Carl, too."

Daryl doesn't bother responding, just swipes his fingers down the core of a feather a tad too roughly, and bends the shaft to its breaking point.

Rick tries again. "I told you, I am so, so grateful for what you did. You being here wouldn't have made a difference one way or another - Patricia still would have died. It was the dead of night and we all thought were safe here. What you did for us? Going out there like that, all on your own? It _mattered_. And I understand why you and Carol lied, too. You chose to do what you thought was the best way to protect yourselves. Protect Sophia. Because I know you care about her."

Daryl lifts his gaze slowly, staring Rick down straight in the eye, warning him to be very careful with his next choice in words.

"You're a decent man, Daryl. Please come back. You're not going to find Merle, and we need you with us. Carol and Sophia need you. Don't leave everything behind for some wild goose chase."

Daryl simply narrows his eyes, and Rick sighs again, turning on his heel and walking back down to camp.

\--

_He's your brother, but he's not good for you_.

Carol's words bounce around in his head while Daryl tries to sleep that night, wound up from Rick's little speech and unable to shut down his mind.

It worked to keep him back before, when she'd said that. If he had a snowball's chance in hell that he could find Merle then, it's got to have melted by now. There's too much time between them, too much distance, and he hasn't the faintest idea of where to start looking.

And Carol's right. She was right when she said it. Merle's not good for Daryl, loathe as he is to admit it, and if it wasn't obvious over the last thirty-odd years it became clear as day once Merle stole the truck and left Daryl for good.

Because it _is_ for good. Even if Merle had the conscience to change his mind and turn back to the quarry for Daryl - doubtful - and he followed the note Rick left for Morgan - really, _really_ doubtful - the CDC's gone. Merle would either assume Daryl went with it or moved on, and there's no trail for him to follow, either.

No, this is it. This is the end of the line. Daryl will probably get himself killed before he finds Merle, and he'll be no good to anyone anywhere.

As humiliated as he is, he knows that Carol and Sophia still need protection. Shane's _hot-headed_ , after all - understatement of the year - and he and Rick are too busy engaged in some cold war over Lori and Carl to pay enough attention to everyone else. Andrea's got Dale looking over her shoulder, not that she needs it, and T-Dog has to fend for himself. Glenn's trying to play house with the farmer's daughter and while Carol's cooped up with the rest of them, Daryl's not laboring under the delusion that the old man's going to sacrifice himself for her and Sophia the way he would his own daughters. And that skinny little boyfriend laying around in the house won't do anybody any favors.

Carol's tough, she's made that clear; she somehow managed to escape whatever happened with her husband unscathed, made all the more impressive by the healthy two-month-old in tow, and to this day they're both alive and safe. That's no easy feat. But it's foolish to pretend that Daryl and Merle didn't have any part of that.

And if he's being honest with himself - _really_ honest - it's not just the humiliation of being found out. Of being looked at like some creep holding a mother and child hostage, or fooling himself into some level of domesticity well out of his reach. No, that would be bad enough as it were.

But it's a sense of purpose that's gone now, too. Daryl's back to being the same piece of shit aimless drifter that he's been for the last thirty-odd years, just wasting time until his number's up. And now he can't even waste it with a beer in his hand and Merle at his side, either.

Until now, he hadn't realized what a difference there was between being a loner and being _alone_ , and that's all the more reason for him to keep himself to the fringes. No point in getting a taste for something that'll get ripped away soon enough, one way or the other.

Daryl hates himself plenty, with a hundred moments vying for top billing, but he knows without a doubt that if the baby dies it's his fault, and he'll never, ever recover from it.

The one good thing about Merle taking off, Daryl thinks sourly, is that he didn't stick around to find out what a complete and total pussy Daryl's become.

\--

Daryl hears voices one afternoon as he's in the woods, and scrambles up a nearby tree to listen.

"...Tony, is that there's gotta be something around here. There's not gonna be a small town like that and no houses. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if there was farmland around here; place that small screams boonies."

"I kinda remember some people from school livin' on farms. Dunno if it's here or not, but he ain't wrong."

"See? Even _Randall_ knows."

"Sure, but what are we supposed to do if his high school buddies are still there?"

"Do what we do. No way they got a group our size. Could be some more pussy, too," some asshole says, and Daryl hears some chuckles before a twig snaps a few yards off.

Four or five guns cock, and Daryl's heart sinks.

"You hear that?"

Daryl freezes, but after a few moments there's nothing else, and one guy sighs.

"Some animal or something. C'mon, let's go."

Fuck.

This is not good.

Luckily, they're heading the wrong way, but night's falling soon and they'll figure something out, one way or another.

Daryl waits until the voices fade, and gives it a few minutes after that, and hauls ass back to the farm, scooping up his bag on the way.

Carol and Lori are sewing next to the fire while T-Dog and Shane are sharpening their knives, and Daryl calls, "Where the hell's Rick?"

"Look who decided to come down from on high," sneers Shane, and Daryl flips him off.

"Can it, Bluto. Where is he?"

Lori jerks her head towards the house. "Inside, talking to Hershel. What's wrong?"

He doesn't bother answering before striding up and yanking open the door.

"Rick! We got a problem!"

Rick hurries out of the kitchen, Hershel close on his heels. "What's wrong?"

"Heard people in the woods. Lookin' for farmland."

"How far away?"

"Half-mile from town. Went the wrong way, ain't comin' here tonight, but..."

"Not gonna give them a chance," Rick finishes, and turns to Hershel. "This is your land, so we'll go by your call, but I'm not sure we should be walking around without guns."

Someone scoffs behind Daryl, and he turns to realize that the rest of the group save for Glenn and Dale, followed him inside.

Shane throws a disgusted look at Rick and storms out of the house, and Hershel sighs.

"I told you, I'm not comfortable turning my land into an armed camp." Whoops. Guess Daryl missed the memo, since he's had a firm hold on his crossbow and pistol the whole time, but he's not about to volunteer to turn them over.

"I know that, but -"

"And who's to say these people aren't just like you?"

"Ain't sounded like that, from what I heard," Daryl interrupts. "Couple choice words tipped me off. 'Sides, one guy said he knew people from high school livin' on farmland, ain't a reach to say they'll get here."

Maggie pipes in. "Daddy, I don't think we should take any chances here."

"Maggie -"

"And with what happened to Patricia -"

"It's not the same thing," Rick argues.

"Your people are on watch, aren't they? Wouldn't they see anything before it comes?"

Rick spreads his arms out. "They can only do so much, Hershel. We need to be prepared, no matter what."

Back and forth they go for what feels like ages, and Daryl feels a touch at his elbow, and he whips around.

"May I speak with you?" Carol asks, and Daryl nods.

They head outside, and Daryl realizes - "Where is she?"

"Inside with Beth. She's quite taken with her." Carol flashes him a small smile, and adds, "Think it's giving Jimmy some concerns."

"Jimmy?"

"Her boyfriend."

"Right."

There's an awkward silence, and Carol says, "Look, I -"

"I know." Daryl swallows. "Sorry. Just..."

Carol shakes her head. "No, I should have told you. It was wrong of me not to."

She must see the question Daryl can't bring himself to ask, and says quietly, "I thought - back at the quarry, you said you were leaving to find Merle, so when I talked to Lori about driving with her..."

The quarry. Jesus Christ.

Daryl scoffs, and Carol hastily adds, "She was a little surprised, Daryl. From what I heard, Shane was completely out of line. I don't think everyone knew. And even if they did, it's only because I told Lori. Not because they... drew their own assumptions, or anything." Her eyes flicker to the house for a moment, and her voice drops lower. "Please don't think that anyone worries about me and Sophia being with you. Our safety. Nobody thinks poorly of you." She rolls her eyes, and adds, "Except Shane, but it seems like he doesn't think too highly of most of us right now."

She's hitting a little too close to home, and Daryl resents her for reading him so clearly.

He tenses, turning to leave, and she says, "Let me finish. I've been practicing my speech for the last week."

That surprises a snort out of him, and he rolls his eyes. Fine.

He faces her again, and she smiles.

"I also wanted to say that the CDC and being here - I wasn't just sticking around to sell it, or something, Daryl. I like your company. You're good to me, good to Sophia. You make me feel safe." Her eyes soften, and she adds, "You're so much more than you give yourself credit for, Daryl. I want you to believe that."

In that moment, he's fighting the impulse to snap at her or run away or crumble in front of her, but he's distracted by a scream.

His stomach drops, and he races around the house, hefting up his crossbow, and he sees Carl running out of the woods, Shane hot on his heels with a garbage bag bouncing over his shoulder.

" _MOM!_ " He screams again, and Daryl and Rick meet him halfway, the rest of the group sprinting behind them.

"CARL!" Rick bellows, and when Carl falls into his arms, he's a breath away from sobbing. "Please, are you okay -"

"It's Dale, he's dead, Shane just -"

"The fuck's goin' on?!" Daryl snarls, and Shane tries to shout over Carl.

"He didn't -"

"Dad -"

"- just take a moment -"

"- he killed him, I saw him, he -"

" _What?_ "

"Rick, don't be -"

" _SHANE KILLED HIM_ , I -"

Daryl aims his bow at Shane's forehead, and shouts, "You killed Dale?!"

"Get that fuckin' thing -"

"DAD, HE STABBED HIM, I SAW IT -"

Shane goes for his gun, and Daryl nails his hand with the crossbow.

"FUCK!"

"Carl -"

"- BAG OF GUNS, _SHANE STABBED HIM_ -"

Shane lunges at Daryl, and suddenly, there's a gunshot, and Shane's lying on the ground with a hole in his head, and everything explodes.

Screaming, crying, guns cocking, and above it all, Lori is bellowing, "RICK!"

Carl breaks down, and Daryl's vividly reminded of that night at the quarry.

His eyes find Carol's and she's shell-shocked, mouth hanging open and silently frozen in place.

\--

Everyone's crowded inside the house, and Carol is glued to Daryl's side.

Lori is off in a bedroom with Carl, and Beth, Sophia, and Jimmy are upstairs while everyone else is standing around the dinner table in stunned silence.

Eventually, Andrea breaks it. "Rick, how could you -"

"Andrea -"

"Can we just try to figure out what happened first?" T-Dog cuts in, and everyone falls silent again.

Glenn clears his throat. "Um, a little while before - uh, you know - Dale asked me to run and get him some water, he said he'd cover me on watch. But he was gone when I got back so I just went back on watch. And then Shane came up, really pissed off, said some stuff that didn't really make any sense. About how Dale didn't want me telling Shane which way he went, or something."

"How long ago?" Andrea snaps, and Glenn nervously casts a glance around.

"An hour, maybe? Hour and a half?"

"So around when Daryl told us about what he heard," T-Dog supplies, and Glenn furrows his brows.

"What?"

"Was in the woods, heard some guys talkin', sounded bad. Like they could find us. Not lookin' to make friends."

"And Daddy and Rick were tryin' to figure out how to handle it."

"If you think -"

"Not the time for this discussion, Hershel," Andrea snarls, and T-Dog raises his hands.

"Timeline first, okay?" He nods at Glenn. "Keep goin'."

"Not much more to tell. Shane got annoyed and headed into the woods, and then... you know."

" _How long?_ "

"I don't have a watch, Andrea," snaps Glenn. "Maybe half an hour, I don't know."

"Did you see Carl anywhere?" T-Dog asks, and Glenn shakes his head.

"No, I haven't seen him for most of the day. He could have been in the woods already, or maybe he followed Shane. I don't know. I wasn't facing that direction."

_Still shit watch_ , Daryl wants to say, but he settles for crossing his arms.

The group falls silent again, and Rick finally speaks.

"I made a call. I don't regret it."

"It wasn't your call to _m_ _ake_ ," Andrea bites out, and Maggie scowls.

"Sounds like Shane murdered Dale for the guns, Andrea, that's not good enough for you now?"

"So, what, we're just executing people because of what a twelve-year-old says?"

"You forget he was comin' at me?"

Andrea glares at him. "You shot him in the hand, Daryl, I'd be coming at you too."

"You forget you shot me in the fuckin' _head_? You see me comin' at you?"

"Don't pretend like this is even the same thing."

"Look," T-Dog interrupts in a sharp tone, "we don't gotta get into that. Fact is, Shane's dead, Carl says he killed Dale, and I don't see Dale anywhere sayin' otherwise."

A somber silence settles over the room, and Daryl feels a cold wave wash through him - he never actually acknowledged that Dale's death means _Dale's not her e_.

Rick says, in a practiced, even tone, "It's dark out. We'll try to figure out what happened in the woods at first light."

Andrea scoffs in disgust. "And just leave Shane out there overnight?"

"If you want to dig a grave, you go right ahead, but I'm not interested in mourning someone who killed one of our own."

" _Allegedly_ , Glenn."

"Cut that lawyer bullshit out. Stupid goin' out there anyhow. Made a shitload of noise anyone could hear before, and that includes the assholes lurkin' around earlier," Daryl argues, and mercifully, Andrea shuts the fuck up.

Hershel says, "You all can set up in the living room."

"Gonna take watch in Carol's window, faces the woods," Daryl volunteers, casting a glance at Carol, and she nods at him.

"My room faces the back, me and Glenn can take watch there."

Hershel narrows his eyes, and there's something unspoken passing between him and Maggie while Glenn cringes.

"I'll keep watch out here," Rick says.

Andrea sneers. "Fine. I'll set up in Patricia's room."

"Guess nobody's sleepin' tonight," T-Dog mutters, and with that, the tension grows thicker.

Carol leaves, and Daryl looks at Rick. Rick nods, and Daryl follows her up to her room.

She knocks on a different door than he expected, and Daryl's about to ask if she switched rooms when Beth opens it. "What happened?"

Carol shakes her head and beckons for Sophia, whimpering somewhere in the room. "We'll talk about it in the morning. Everyone's keeping watch, we're safe for tonight. Try and get some sleep."

Beth nods, unconvinced, but hands a Sophia over all the same.

Daryl sets up at the window as Carol closes the door behind her, and Sophia's cries fall silent with a familiar sound that makes Daryl's cheeks prickle with heat.

He rolls his eyes at himself, and after Carol burps Sophia, she quietly asks, "Are we good?"

Daryl doesn't really know how to answer that. "This really the time?"

"No time like the present."

Daryl scoffs, but if it gives Carol any semblance of peace of mind tonight, that's fine with him.

"Yeah, we're good," he says, and he's surprised to find he means it.

Carol puts Sophia to bed, and after a while Daryl realizes Carol fell asleep.

He didn't think she would, after everything that happened, but earlier she said he makes her feel safe.

Guess she meant it.

Daryl ignores the twisting in his gut as he begins to replay their conversation in his head, and quickly shuts it down.

Tonight's not the time for that.

Maybe later.

\--

By the time dawn breaks, Daryl hasn't seen any movement all night, and judging by the silence in the house nobody else has, either.

He taps Carol on the arm and she jerks awake. "Hey, gonna head downstairs, figure out what's goin' on. You good to keep a lookout?"

She rubs her eyes and frowns. "You were supposed to wake me up to switch."

He shrugs. "Figured you needed the rest."

"And you didn't?"

Sophia stirs, and Carol sighs. "Fine, go ahead. I'll stay up here."

He nods, and as he opens the door, she says, "Be safe, okay?"

He looks back at her, and after a moment he simply nods again. "You too."

He shuts the door quietly behind him and walks downstairs, and when he gets to the dining room he's not surprised to see everyone gathered around the table again, sans Lori and Carl.

Rick nods at him. "Good. You ready?"

Daryl nods, and Glenn cuts in. "I'm coming with you."

Andrea scowls. Her mood doesn't seem to have improved overnight. Wonderful. "I'm going too, Glenn. It was never going to just be Daryl and Rick."

T-Dog raises his hands in a placate gesture. "Guys, let's just - look, we can all go, but someone should hang back, just in case."

Maggie nods. "I'll stay. Daddy and I already agreed, and Beth won't be going either."

"Carol neither," Daryl adds.

Jimmy says, "I want to go. I want to learn how to track." He casts a glance at Hershel, and mumbles, "If that's okay, sir."

Hershel sighs, but nods, and Rick claps his hands together. "Good. Then it's settled. Let's go."

He opens the bag of guns and distributes them, ignoring the glare from Andrea, and they set off without another word, Daryl leading the pack.

They pass Shane's body, still lying on the ground, and Daryl keeps moving. If anyone wants to hang back and mourn the asshole, that's not his problem.

He's able to distinguish the trail into the woods from the trail out - barely - and eventually, they come to a stop in the swamps.

Daryl gestures at the ground. "Yeah, there was a dust-up here, that's for damn sure."

"Okay, but Dale's not here."

_Obviously_ , Daryl wants to snap at Andrea, but Rick cuts in.

"Daryl, do you see anything leading somewhere else?"

Daryl casts a glance around, and shrugs. "A little messy. Could go either way." He jerks his chin further into the swamp, and says, "Somethin' looks like it's goin' back, but swamp makes it hard to tell when somethin' crossed."

"We're not splitting up," Rick cuts in sharply. "Let's follow the swamp tracks, and if they lead nowhere we'll head back. I don't want anyone running into those guys alone."

They keep walking in silence, and the tracks weave around, back and forth. It almost looks like -

There's a growl and a scream behind them, and when Daryl whips around there's a walker taking a bite out of Jimmy's neck.

His heart drops when he sees the Hawaiian shirt and the shock of white hair, snarling around a bloody mouth.

The group is stock-still while Jimmy howls in pain, and Rick lifts his pistol with a shaky hand.

He doesn't shoot, though, and Daryl sends a bolt through Jimmy's forehead.

He reloads, whispering, "Sorry, brother," and sends another into Dale's.

\--

T-Dog carries Jimmy back to the farm, and Rick carries Dale, and Andrea locks herself in the RV without a word.

They stand in front of the house for a moment, and Glenn and Daryl share a look before going inside.

Maggie's waiting right behind the door, shotgun aimed, but lowers it right when she sees them.

"So?"

Glenn nods, rubbing a hand across his face, and Daryl says, "Just like Carl said." He hesitates, and asks, "Your sister around?"

Maggie eyes him warily. "Upstairs with Carol and the baby. Why?"

"Jimmy."

Her shoulders slump. "What happened?"

Glenn mumbles, "He didn't make it."

Maggie nods, tears welling, but she blinks them back. "Do you..."

Glenn gestures for her to follow, and they head outside.

A moment later, Daryl hears her crying, and he hangs his head.

Not fucking fair.

There's a creak on the stairs, and Daryl calls, "Just me," and a few moments later Carol comes into view.

"Everything okay?"

He swallows, and shakes his head. "Found Dale. Jimmy died."

There's a prickling in his eyes as he replays the scene.

They all had stood there in shock for a while longer, until Daryl had mustered up the courage to pull his bolts out, and he wipes at his face, trying to push it away.

_Not fucking fair._

Caryl approaches him slowly, and murmurs, "Are you okay?"

"Gotta be."

"No, you don't, Daryl."

He clears his throat, casts his glance around. "Gotta tell Beth."

"Maybe Maggie should. Or Rick. Or Hershel."

"It was me, though. I did it."

She grasps her hands in his, and murmurs, "You don't have to."

He doesn't say anything, and after a beat passes she simply repeats herself. "Really. You don't."

They stand there for a few moments longer, before she squeezes his hands and wordlessly tugs him to the door. He follows, and they sit on the steps of the porch, watching as Glenn rubs Maggie's back while she hovers over Jimmy's body.

In the distance, Daryl can still see Shane lying on the ground, and wonders if his words will ever die with him.

\--

In the end, Maggie and Hershel break the news to Beth, and Daryl can hear her crying inside as he helps to dig the graves. There's still been no discussion on what to do with Shane, and Andrea hasn't come out of the RV in hours.

Daryl can practically hear the cogs turning in everyone's heads though - there wasn't a bite mark anywhere on Dale, so why did he turn?

Finally, the graves are dug, and they hold quiet, solemn funerals for Dale and Jimmy. Glenn had tried to coax Andrea out, but she had refused.

As the last rocks are stacked and the sun begins to set, Daryl pulls Rick aside. "What are we gonna do about Shane, man?"

"I don't know, Daryl."

He can sense Rick's patience wearing thin, and his frustration building, so all Daryl says is, "Look, I'll back you, whatever it is. I don't give a shit. But we can't just leave him layin' there for much longer."

Rick considers his words, and lets out a heavy sigh. "If I say to burn him -"

Daryl nods. "I'll do it, like I said. Don't give a shit."

"He doesn't deserve to be buried with the others."

No, he doesn't, but Daryl can guarantee that Lori and Andrea will shit a brick if it comes to that.

Not his problem, though.

"Fine. Lead the way."

He and Rick carry Shane's body to the truck bed, and dump him with the rest of the walker bodies from Patricia's attack. They set the fire and don't bother to watch it burn before turning back.

\--

That night, nobody gathers around the table, and Daryl heads straight upstairs to Carol and Sophia.

He stands at the door, fidgeting, until Carol calls, "Just come in, Daryl," and he pushes open the door sheepishly.

She flashes a small smile at him. "How are you doing?"

"Fine."

She raises an eyebrow, and he stares at the ground, watching as she lays Sophia in the bassinet at the foot of the bed.

Carol walks over to him, shutting the door behind him, and murmurs, "You don't have to be okay, Daryl."

He doesn't say anything, and she tentatively places her hands on his forearms, and he pulls her in.

He can tell she's just as surprised as she is, but she wraps her arms around his neck, and whispers, "I'm so sorry."

They stand there for a moment longer until he gets control of himself, and pulls back. "Life these days, I guess."

"It still sucks."

"Yeah."

She leads him over to the edge of the bed, pulling him down to sit next to her. "Is Shane still out there?"

"No, me and Rick took him out back. Burned him."

Carol slowly nods. "Guess that fits."

"Guess so."

Daryl chews on his lips for a moment, and says, "Dale wasn't bit. Just died from the stabbing. But he still turned."

Carol sighs. "I kind of had a suspicion, if I'm being honest."

"What?"

"When I was in the hospital, there was a woman in the room next to me. I didn't get all the details, but from what I could piece together from listening to the doctors, she gave birth to a stillborn baby that all of a sudden wasn't quite so dead a few minutes after he was born." She sucks in a breath, and adds, "I think maybe it's in all of us. Just what happens when we die, no matter what."

Daryl nods, comprehension slowly dawning on him. "And Shane didn't come back 'cause Rick got him in the head. And -"

He bites off the rest of that sentence - _maybe the guy in the clinic wasn't bit, either_ \- but that would mean telling her that he killed someone. Two, really, because although he assumed the guy he fed to the walkers was still alive but unconscious, clearly he could have been dead already, and either way Daryl killed him.

Three, now, with Jimmy.

He's tried to push that down as much as he could - he'd never killed anyone before all this, and although they didn't give him much choice, he certainly didn't enjoy it - and isn't interested in doing any more emotional deep-dives tonight, least of all with Carol.

He can see on her face that she wants to push, but thankfully, she doesn't, and instead she just scoots down the bed. "I'm exhausted, so if you're okay with it, I kind of just want to go to bed."

"Yeah, right there with you."

"Will you stay here? Not in the tent?"

Daryl nods after a beat, and he walks over to the closet to pull out the extra comforter.

She says, "The offer for you to stay in the bed with me is still on the table, Daryl, but if you don't want to that's fine, too. Just please don't leave."

It's kind of funny - he hadn't even considered leaving until she asked him not to. It's a far cry from last time, but he supposes it's a testament to how fucking tired he is.

He just shrugs and tosses the comforter on the ground, beckoning for a pillow. She passes one to him, and he makes himself comfortable.

She kills the light, and just as he's nodding off, she asks, "Daryl?"

"Oh my god."

"Sorry, I just - are you still planning to leave? To look for Merle?"

He's quiet for a moment before answering.

He wants to leave. No, that's not right. He wants to find Merle. Or at least know that he's alive. He wants to be a better brother to Merle than Merle is to him.

He wants to want to leave.

"No," he mumbles, and Carol shifts in the bed.

"Good," she says, and he nods in the darkness.

It's a while before he can summon the courage, and he asks, "You miss him?"

"Hmm?" Carol says groggily, and it sounds like Daryl woke her up. Serves her right.

"You miss him?"

"Miss who, Merle?"

Daryl shakes his head, momentarily forgetting that she can't see him. "No. Your husband."

She's quiet for a moment, and then darkly chuckles. "Well, isn't that a question." She shifts around in bed again, and asks, "Do you miss Merle?"

Daryl snorts. "Yeah, that's a damn question."

They fall into a companionable silence, and eventually, Daryl drifts into a fitful sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

The next several days are… uncomfortable, to say the least.

Daryl catches a few glimpses of Lori on her way in or out of the kitchen, only for a few moments each time, and he doesn’t see Carl at all.

He heard Rick one night gently tapping on their door, asking to come in, but judging by the ongoing tension in the air it seems like he was ignored, and as far as Daryl can tell it hasn’t gone any further than that.

Andrea rarely comes out of the R.V., and then apparently Beth tries to kill herself, barely, and Carol’s stuck tending to her while Hershel and Maggie work the farm.

And of course the only thing that manages to cheer Beth up even a little is Sophia, so the three of them are spending all their time together to keep Beth from trying it again.

Daryl’s never really understood suicide – he doesn’t see the point in dying any earlier than strictly necessary, and the only person he knew that did it chose a shotgun, which was certainly more effective than the little shard of glass Beth picked up, but he supposes he’s not really one to talk given his tendency towards self-destruction, and _wow_ , that’s a train of thought he needs to derail right fucking now.

Anyway, as a result of all this, Daryl’s more often than not left to his own devices. And of _course_ that makes him a little disappointed, which makes him mad, because he has absolutely no claim to Carol and Sophia and he needs to stop acting like he does, so he spends his days trying to hunt in the woods and taking watch shifts with T-Dog, Glenn, and Rick.

But after a week or so, he’s sitting on the roof of the R.V., rifle in hand, when Andrea climbs up next to him.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Andrea crosses her arms and sits down, looking out into the woods, and they’re quiet for a few minutes before Andrea asks, “How am I supposed to handle it?”

“Huh?”

She gestures to the trees. “The forest. It’s _everywhere_ , and I feel like it’s just… I’m never going to be to _look_ at it without thinking about Dale.”

Daryl shrugs, fingering a scratch on the stock. “Nah, you’ll be okay. Bad shit happens everywhere. Hell, I got _lost_ in the woods as a kid, and you don’t see me sidesteppin’ it.”

Andrea quirks her lips. “Really? _You_? Tracker, hunter, woodsman extraordinaire?”

“Yup. Nine days, eatin’ berries. Even wiped my ass with poison oak.”

“Did anyone find you?”

“Nope. My old man was off on a bender with some waitress. Merle was doin’ another stint in juvie, didn’t even know I was gone. I made my way back, though. Went straight into the kitchen and made myself a sandwich, no worse for the wear.” He pauses, wondering how much ammo to give her, but he figures she’s been moping around long enough that she’s earned it. “Ass itched somethin’ awful.”

It worked; she laughs, failing to bite it back, and says, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That is a _terrible_ story.”

“Yeah, you feel real bad for me, huh?”

“I do, I’m sorry,” she says, the last of her giggles dying off. 

He shrugs. “Anyway, you’ll be alright. Seem like you’re comin’ back from Dale. The CDC, too.”

Andrea sighs, standing up and looking at the sky. “As much as we all can, I guess.” She walks back to the ladder, and as she descends the first rung, she pauses. 

“Thanks, Daryl.”

He twists around to look at her and nods, and she flashes him a small smile before climbing down.

He looks back out at the forest, and reluctantly admits that he’s glad he stayed. He’s got people in his life now, people he could tentatively call his _friends_ , which is something he’s been wholly unfamiliar with as an adult. 

For once, he doesn’t mind the discomfort the thought brings. 

—

Days slowly turn into weeks, with more of the same; he hunts, takes watch, and gradually spends more time with Sophia and Carol as the group grows more confident that Beth’s stable. 

Lori and Carl start to re-engage with everyone, too, though it’s obviously strained with Rick. Daryl can’t exactly blame them – murdering his best friend/wife’s baby daddy/son’s surrogate father in front of everyone, immediately after son witnesses said surrogate father murder another member of the group, doesn’t really make for a happy family. 

But that’s a soap opera Daryl’s not touching with a thirty-foot stick. 

It seems like Sophia’s growing bigger every day; she pushes herself up, starts rolling around, trying to grab at the collar of Daryl’s shirts and yanking at Beth’s hair until she sings. 

Daryl’s never really cared much about music – it was just background noise more often than not, so he’s surprised to find that he actually enjoys Beth’s little concerts. 

He tries and fails to ignore the likelihood that it’s because Sophia’s face lights up, baring her gums and giggling and waving her little arms around. It’s just so damn cute, and he hates how good it makes him feel to watch her like that. 

He finds himself looking forward to bedtime with her and Carol, too, and he tries and fails to ignore the likelihood that it’s because in the dark, their conversation flows more easily. It feels more intimate, too – not just because of the feeling of quiet domesticity that he’d had no idea he’d enjoy so much, but because he’s braver in the dark. Able to ask her things he wouldn’t if he could see her face. Able to answer questions he couldn’t if she could see his. 

He’d always run from any sort of vulnerability; he learned as a kid that the only emotion allowed was anger, and the only way to express it was through loud voices and clenched fists. Nothing else was acceptable. His dad’s belt taught him that, and Merle reminded him plenty. 

But there’s something about Carol that gets under his skin. She can read him so easily. Too easily. And even though it makes him uncomfortable and twitchy as hell, he’s gotten used to it. He doesn’t _like_ it, but he’s used to it.

One night, as they’re laying in the dark, Daryl asks, “Did you always want to be a mom?”

Carol’s quiet for a moment, but Daryl’s gotten better at interpreting her silences, and this one feels like she’s gathering her thoughts.

He’s right. “Yeah. I had a hard time getting pregnant.” Her tone darkens, and she adds, “Stress does that.”

Daryl can imagine.

She clears her throat. “But when I found out I was having Sophia, I was… I don’t know. I was thrilled, of course I was thrilled. But… bringing her into…”

Daryl nods in the dark, forgetting momentarily that she can’t see him. 

He can’t help his curiosity, though, so he ventures, “How’d he take it?”

She huffs out a humorless laugh. “He, uh. Hmm. Yeah. Mixed bag. Some days he was excited. Other days he wasn’t.” She swallows audibly, and Daryl regrets asking. “You know, he was one of those prepper types – he was plugged into all those wild conspiracy theories about the apocalypse and everything. He’d heard a rumor from a friend of a friend of a friend or whatever about the virus a few months before it hit the news, and he’d… he tried to make a plan, you know? When I was six, maybe seven months pregnant. About worst-case scenarios, and everything.”

She falls silent again, and Daryl can tell that the conversation’s over. 

He’s not exactly worried about having pushed her too much – she shares what she wants, and she’s good at evading and pretending and ignoring what she doesn’t want to acknowledge. If she didn’t want to answer, she wouldn’t have. 

Probably.

Eventually, her breathing evens out, and Daryl falls asleep too.

—

A few nights later, she asks, “Did you ever want kids?”

He scoffs. “Thought you said I was the eternal bachelor.”

“Ah, right. How silly of me.”

A few minutes pass, and then he says quietly, “Never really gave it much thought.”

“No?”

“Mm-mm.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and she doesn’t push.

He’s not lying, exactly; the opportunity hadn’t ever presented itself, and it’s certainly not something he’d ever longed for. In those moments of introspection he’d tried so desperately to avoid, he’d known deep down that the world would be better off if the Dixon line died with him. The only role models he had were drunks, addicts, and violent degenerates, and he’d figured the apple probably wouldn’t fall too far from the tree.

It’s a good thing that he didn’t have kids. It’s a good thing that he didn’t _need_ to have kids.

It’s for the best. For him, for the imaginary kids, for the imaginary mom, and for the world. It is.

—

One night, Daryl jerks awake, finding Carol bent over him and shaking his arm. 

“Daryl, get up, get up, there’s -“

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Headlights, coming up the drive -“

Daryl jumps to his feet, peering out the window, and sure enough, there they are.

“Wake up Beth and Maggie. Stay up here, I’ll tell Rick. You got a gun?”

Carol nods, and Daryl runs downstairs as quietly as he can, already finding Rick and Hershel shaking everyone awake.

“Daryl. Good. You saw?”

“Yeah, upstairs. Carol spotted ’em. She’s gettin’ everyone up. What about Andrea?” 

Rick shakes his head, frustration clear on his face. “I don’t know, I didn’t hear anything, so maybe they passed her already? We can’t go out there.”

As he speaks, Maggie and Glenn hurry down the stairs, worry clear on their faces, and Rick silently directs Lori and Carl upstairs.

“Rick, what’s the -“

Glenn’s cut off by the sound of slamming car doors just outside. 

Rick motions for everyone to _get down and be quiet_ , and then they hear the harsh whispers on the porch.

“- group’s already here, what if -“

“Randall, _shut the fuck up_ and let me handle this.”

“But -“

“Tony, will you -“

A shotgun cocks, and it falls silent. 

A beat passes, and then someone calls out, “Anyone in there?”

Rick motions for them all to stay quiet again, and Daryl can practically _feel_ the air thicken in the room. 

The guy slams his fist against the door, and says louder, “Anyone? Hello?”

For a moment, Daryl thinks they’re going to break down the door, and then Rick winces.

No, fuck –

“This is _our_ farm, you should be moving on.”

There’s silence on the other side of the door, and the guy says, “Look, winter’s coming soon, man, we’re just looking for somewhere to stay.”

“And I said, you should be moving on.” Rick gives them a moment, and adds, “Walk away.”

Someone hisses on the porch, “We should get out of here, regroup -“

“Randall!” another guy barks, and Daryl realizes with dismay –

Daryl taps on the floor, and Rick whips his head around. Daryl tries to communicate that these are the same guys he heard in the woods, and judging by how Rick’s mouth flattens into a thin line, he gets the message.

The guy outside the door says, “Look, we don’t want trouble. My name’s Dave. Let’s talk about this. We can pool our resources, our manpower.”

“It’s not an option. _Walk away._ “

One of the guys scoffs, and says, “Fuck this,” and Rick flattens to the floor, everyone immediately following suit, just before there’s a shot at the lock.

Daryl hears a gunshot from upstairs, and realizes with pride that Carol’s doing what has to be done.

From that moment on, it’s an all-out firefight.

One of the guys kicks in the door, gun raised and already firing, and Daryl throws himself at his legs, knocking him sideways, and when Rick shoots him in the head Daryl rolls to the side.

“ _Tony!_ “

One of the guys screams in pain, and then cuts off, and as unfamiliar faces peek around the doorframe, one of them goes down and one of them gets a shot at T-Dog.

“ _SHIT_!”

“Get him out of here!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl catches Glenn dragging T-Dog off to the side, and then he loses track of everything else in the chaos.

When the smoke clears, they find that T-Dog was only grazed in the arm, and it seems like everyone else downstairs remains unscathed. Maggie runs to the second floor while Daryl and Rick check outside.

Seven bodies lay scattered on the porch and the lawn, and the both the cars the group drove are empty.

They creep up to the R.V., and Rick knocks on the door. “Anybody in there?”

There’s silence, and a pit forms in Daryl’s stomach.

Rick slams his fist against the door, calling louder. “If you’re in there, your group is _gone_. Nobody’s left. We told them to leave. They gave us no choice.”

A beat passes, and a voice calls out, “Rick?”

Relief floods through Daryl’s body, and Rick says, “Andrea?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“It’s okay, you can come out, Daryl’s with me.”

Another few moments pass before Daryl watches Andrea’s face peek out from behind the window, and when she sees it’s just the two of them, she unlocks the door, and to Daryl’s surprise she actually falls into Rick’s arms.

“Is everyone okay? Was anyone hurt?”

“T-Dog got hit, but he’s doin’ okay, just a graze.”

“Rick, one of them got in, I don’t know if he’s dead or just unconscious, I got him in the gut and he knocked his head on the counter when he fell, I took his gun, I didn’t -“

“It’s okay, you did good -” Rick casts a worried glance at Daryl, and Daryl hesitates for a moment before nodding and walking inside.

There’s a guy laying facedown on the floor, blood pooling underneath him, and Daryl pats him down, finding nothing hidden on him.

He carefully flips him over, and the guy’s unconscious, just barely breathing, and he slaps him awake.

“Rick!”

He hears Rick tell Andrea to sit in the front seat and keep an eye out, and crowds up behind Daryl.

The guy’s not going to make it, that much is clear – there’s too much blood and he’s gurgling on it, but Daryl asks anyway, “How many more of you are there?”

He’s got a dazed look in his eye, and Rick smacks him. “ _How many more?_ “

The guy blinks, and starts twitching, choking on his blood, and Rick and Daryl exchange a look before Rick shoots him, point-blank between the eyes.

Andrea’s crying up front, and Daryl and Rick silently drag the guy out from the R.V., dumping him on the ground, and Daryl beckons to Andrea.

“C’mon, let’s get back to the house.”

They walk her back, and Daryl and Rick drive around the property, circling it half a dozen times before concluding that there’s nobody left. Nobody ran, nobody’s hiding, nobody’s waiting, and they head back.

There’s only three bodies left that weren’t hit in the brain, and they take care of it.

—

The door’s boarded up, the broken lock nailed shut, T-Dog’s arm is bandaged, and everyone’s silently gathered in the living room, save for Beth, Carl, and Sophia all still upstairs.

Lori breaks the silence.

“What do we do?”

Rick sighs, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t know. We need to get rid of the bodies.”

“Burn ’em at first light?” Daryl suggests, and Rick nods.

“What if the rest of their group comes looking?” Glenn asks.

T-Dog fiddles with his bandage, wincing. “Do we even know there’s more of them?”

Daryl scratches the back of his neck, trying to remember. “Think there was more of ’em tonight than there was in the woods.”

“And you’re sure that it’s the same group?” Hershel asks, and Daryl nods.

“Same names, voices sounded the same, from what I can remember.”

Rick closes his eyes for a moment and holds out his hand, speaking in that _let’s-be-rational_ cop voice he’s perfected. “Alright, look. I’ll stay down here, keep watch. Everybody should get some sleep, there’s no use in us all sitting around worrying.”

Daryl’s not really sure he buys that logic – seems like this is actually the perfect time to sit around worrying that the rest of their group is coming, but he supposes that everyone would probably rather stew in their own anxiety privately anyway. 

Everyone disperses, and Daryl takes watch in Carol’s bedroom.

He can tell she hasn’t fallen asleep yet by her breathing, and he ventures, “We got all directions covered. I’ll wake you if there’s trouble.”

She doesn’t respond, and he doesn’t really know what else to say, so he falls silent. It’s not surprising that she’d be up, anyway; the circumstances don’t exactly set a restful atmosphere. He’d be laying awake too if he wasn’t on watch. 

From what Daryl can estimate, another hour or so passes before Carol speaks. 

“I started it.”

Daryl nods, and realizes she can’t see him in the dark.

“Did what had to be done.”

“I killed one of them.”

Daryl’s quiet for a moment, and simply repeats himself. “Did what had to be done.”

She sighs, and for a while Daryl thinks that’s all the response he’ll get, but then she says, “It’s the second time.”

Daryl’s not sure if he’s supposed to ask, but he does anyway. “Your husband?”

Her silence is answer enough.

“These guys deserved it.”

Still nothing.

“Bet your husband did too.”

Carol scoffs. “To say the least.”

Daryl chews on his cuticle, wondering if she wants him to push.

He doesn’t, and when she speaks her voice is curiously flat.

“He tried to leave her behind.”

Daryl had a sinking feeling, but… it’s still hard to hear. 

She falls silent, and his curiosity gets the better of him.

“How long before I found you?”

“The day after she was born.”

“You were on your own for _two months_?” He blurts out in disbelief, and she doesn’t answer.

Holy shit. Two months. _Two months_ without anyone else. _Two months_ with a newborn. 

_Two months._

After a while, he hears her breathing change, and for a moment he thinks she finally fell asleep, until he hears the sniffling.

He’s about to reassure her – _she did what she had to do to protect Sophia, he would have done it in a heartbeat_ – but then her voice cracks.

“You found me just in time.”

Just in time?

There wasn’t a herd, she hadn’t looked like she was on the verge of collapse – she had actually looked pretty healthy, which is even more surprising now knowing that she had nobody looking after her, but why would that make her _cry_? Losing Sophia is scary, but she’s safe now, so –

“I’m no better than him, Daryl.”

And then it clicks.

He lays his gun down, and walks over to the bed.

In the dark he can just barely make her out, but she’s curled into the fetal position, and he feels a pang in his chest.

He reaches out, places his hand on her shoulder, and she’s shaking like a leaf.

“Hey. Hey. C’mere.”

He tugs at her until she’s facing him and her hands are covering her face, her palms digging into her eyes.

“Hey. Look at me.”

He gently pries her hands down, and her eyes are squeezed shut, so tightly it looks like it hurts.

“Hey.”

She’s shaking her head, desperately trying to keep control, and before he knows it he’s climbing into bed, laying next to her and pulling her close.

“You ain’t him. Ain’t nothin’ like him. Ain’t a person on this earth who could do what you did and not hit a breakin’ point. Promise.”

She’s still shaking, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and he murmurs, “I remember, when I found you. You were takin’ care of her, in the middle of the woods, walker around the corner. No matter what you were thinkin’, you didn’t do nothin’ but love her. Runnin’ ragged like that, two whole months doin’ what you were doin’, makes you think about shit you wouldn’t ever think about.”

Her fingers cut deeper, and he says, “I know you, Carol. You wouldn’t do it. No matter how much you wanted to. Know it in my bones.” He pauses for a moment, and quietly adds, “Ain’t never gonna think bad of you for it. For any of it. Never.”

It’s true; he can’t sympathize with an abusive asshole trying to ditch his baby girl without hesitation, even with the world the way that it is. Taking a kid away from her mom – leaving a newborn to _die_ and forcing Carol to play along or get the shit beat out of her – or worse – can’t be justified. And besides, trying to do that the day after she’s born? Hell, for all Daryl knows, the asshole could have been planning it the entire time Carol was pregnant. Considering what Carol’s said before, the guy was probably planning it the moment the virus got _real_.

But a single woman, completely alone, with no gun training and only a knife to protect her and her infant child? _Two months_ of running, hiding, scavenging, hoping against hope that men worse than her husband don’t come along, that walkers don’t catch her off-guard, that she can feed and clothe and change her baby girl – keep her _healthy_ , even, not just safe – there’s absolutely nobody on earth that can do it without losing their minds. Hell, he was only able to live as well as he was because he had Merle with him and considerable survival skills, not to mention a secure cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Sophia’s a good kid, but from what the book says, babies cry _constantly_ after being born, and if it’s hard to be a new parent in the regular world, if it’s near-impossible to be a new _single_ parent in the regular world, it’s _unfathomable_ trying to be a new, single parent in this world, with no food, no shelter, no protection. Fuck, she probably never even _slept_.

Anybody would lose their minds. If her husband wasn’t a piece of shit already, Daryl wouldn’t fault the guy for wondering how the fuck they were gonna make it with a newborn in tow.

But wondering and choosing – _forcing_ the way Daryl’s sure that he tried to force Carol to ditch Sophia, without even giving her a chance – are two very, very different things. 

She breaks, and he rests his chin on the top of her head, gently stroking down her spine as she lets it all out.

She cries herself to sleep as the sun comes up, and he realizes he hasn’t thought about letting go once.

—

He stays there for as long as he can, watching her sleep, but eventually he hears the rest of the house wake up downstairs. 

He creeps out of bed, careful not to wake her, and quietly shuts the door behind him. 

He and Rick wordlessly pile the bodies into the bed of the pickup, and drive off to the walker pile, burning them on top of the pyre they’ve created. 

They don’t bother watching it burn before leaving. 

As they pull up, Daryl hops out, heading towards the woods, and Rick calls, “Where are you going?”

“Won’t be but a minute.”

“You shouldn’t be going _anywhere_ alone.”

“Just gotta do somethin’ real quick. Be right back.”

Rick’s clearly frustrated, but throws up his hands and walks away, and Daryl continues on. 

—

He gets back to the house within an hour, and Carol still hasn’t come down. 

He swipes an empty glass from the kitchen cabinet and heads upstairs, gently knocking on their bedroom door. 

He doesn’t hear an answer, but when he cracks it open, he sees Carol’s awake and curled up next to Sophia, watching her sleep. 

She glances over at Daryl, and he can swear her cheeks turn pink. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

He hesitates for a moment, but quietly shuts the door behind him, and asks, “You okay?”

She shrugs, looking back at Sophia. “Gotta be.”

“No, you don’t.”

She looks at him, something written on her face that he can’t quite understand, but it makes his insides squirm all the same. 

Belatedly, he remembers the glass in his hand, and sets it on the nightstand. 

She blinks. “A flower?”

“It’s a Cherokee rose.” At her blank expression, he explains, “Story is that when American soldiers were movin’ Native Americans off their land, on the Trail of Tears, the Cherokee mothers were grievin’ and cryin’ so much. ‘Cause they were losin’ their little ones along the way, from exposure, and disease, and starvation. A lot of ’em just… disappeared.”

Carol blinks, but waits for him to continue.

“So the elders, they said a prayer; asked for a sign to uplift the mothers’ spirits. Give ’em strength and hope. The next day, this rose started to grow right were the mothers’ tears fell.” He hesitates for a moment, but adds, “I’m not… fool enough to think there’s flowers bloomin’ for Merle. But I believe this one bloomed for Sophia. And you.”

Her eyes turn glassy, but she blinks back the tears, and whispers, “Thank you.”

“Ain’t nothin’,” is his automatic response, and she gives him a watery smile. 

“It _is_ something, actually, and that something is very kind of you.”

His cheeks heat up despite the familiar refrain, and Sophia grumbles herself awake. 

“I mean it, though. Thank you. For everything.”

He shrugs, and chews on his fingernail, and when she rolls her eyes she says, “It’s okay, you can leave. I don’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

“Ain’t _delicate_ ,” he grumbles, face growing hotter, but she’s already starting to pull off her shirt, so he excuses himself and heads back downstairs. 

—

A hunting trip a few days later has him out well past sunset – deer was wily as fuck and there were a handful of walkers intent on beating him to it – but he makes it back, hammering on the front door when he finds it locked up tight.

Carol whips it open, and the relief on her face is palpable.

He notices her fingers twitch, and he can tell she wants to embrace him, and he’s irritated that he’s _disappointed_ that she doesn’t. 

He’s a goddamn adult. He can walk in and out of the house without needing a squeeze and a kiss on the forehead, for fuck’s sake.

He stomps into the kitchen, tossing the meat he’d already dressed into the fridge, and heads upstairs for a shower, intent on scrubbing away the remnants of the deer innards and walker guts splattered all over him.

By the time he’s cleaned up and in their bedroom, Carol’s laying awake in bed, lantern just barely casting light into the room.

He settles in, and she wordlessly turns it off, and without a doubt he knows what she’s going to say.

So he beats her to it.

“Know I was gone longer than I said. Didn’t catch a trail til late in the day, so…”

He hears the sheets shift on the bed, and thinks that’s the end of it.

But then she whispers, “I didn’t know if you were coming back.”

“I know.” It’s a little awkward, but he feels the need to add, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s not like you did it on purpose.”

“I know. Just…”

He trails off, and she doesn’t supply the rest of the sentence.

Just as he’s starting to doze off, he can hear her whisper, “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t.”

If he were a braver man, he’d say, _I know_ , or _it’s okay_ , or _you won’t_.

Or _me neither_. 

As it is, though, he’s a coward, so he simply doesn’t respond, and although he thinks she knows he’s still awake, she doesn’t press him.

A twinge in his stomach keeps him up for a while, and when he eventually drifts off, he doesn’t realize that she hadn’t fallen asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Today was a long, busy day. 

Daryl had helped Maggie haul hay while the tractor was out of commission, and then muck the stalls, and then build up the fences, and then when dinner finally, finally rolled around, Sophia was inconsolable unless, for whatever reason, Daryl was walking around and carrying her, and she wouldn't fall asleep until well past her bedtime. 

He's finally able to put her down, and he collapses against the bed, sighing in exhaustion and shaking out his arms. 

"You okay down there?"

"Baby's like a damn sack of flour. Givin' me dead arms."

Carol laughs. "Yeah, that's something that I still struggle with, too. Part of why I'm so glad that Beth wants to be so involved. Gives me a break." Daryl rolls his shoulder against the bed frame, and feels Carol's hands ghost across his biceps. "Come here."

"Huh?"

"Come up here, sit with me."

He furrows his brows for a moment, but relents, and hefts himself onto the bed, feet dangling onto the floor.

Carol rolls her eyes. "You can come closer, Daryl. I'm not going to bite." She smirks, and says, "Unless you want."

"Stop."

At her beckoning, he inches closer and ducks his eyes, picking at a loose thread on the comforter, and she takes his forearm in her hands. 

He tries to yank it back, but she's got a firm grip on him. "The hell you doin'?"

"You said your arms hurt, Daryl. Let me help." And as she says it, he realizes that she's rubbing and pushing and kneading in all the right spots, and part of him involuntarily relaxes. 

Which, of course, makes him tense up, and Carol murmurs, "Just let me help."

If it were under any other circumstances, he'd scoff and roll right off the damn bed, but he's exhausted and she's bringing the feeling back into his forearms without any of the pins-and-needles he'd expected. 

If it were anyone else, regardless of how sore his muscles were, he'd be out the damn door, and he refuses to analyze that any further.

As it is, he simply eyes her with caution, and doesn't say anything at the small quirk of her lips.

It's nice. 

The relief from the ache is nice, too. 

She lays his hand back in his lap, sooner than he'd like to admit, and taps at his thigh.

"What?"

"Other one, come on."

He glances at her for a moment before swinging around, sitting cross-legged in front of her, and without preamble she takes his other arm and begins again. 

"You're good at that," he mumbles.

"Even housewives have their talents."

Fuck. "Ain't meant -"

"I know, I'm just messing with you."

Carol smirks at him, and Daryl snorts in response. 

After a while, his arms feel so much better, and it takes him a moment to realize she's finished, holding his palm in both of hers and brushing the back of his hand with her thumbs. 

The moment's coming to a natural end, and he's surprised to realize he wishes it wouldn't. 

"I'm really glad you found us," Carol murmurs, and something in his gut twists. 

A beat passes, and he mumbles, "Yeah, me too."

They lock eyes, and he can _feel_ the atmosphere morph into something he can't quite name.

His leg twitches, and his knee bumps against hers, and it's then that he realizes how _unbothered_ he is at the mere breath of space between them.

He meant it; he's glad he found Carol and Sophia that day, and it somehow feels like both ages ago and just yesterday that he stumbled upon them in the forest. 

And yeah, it's partly because he couldn't bear to leave a goddamn _baby_ in the woods - even if the world hadn't gone to shit and it was just another hunting trip, he'd have felt the same way. 

Daryl knew that he didn't really want to rob the camp from the moment Merle said it. Didn't want to leave a mother and infant child alone with a group of people he didn't know and didn't trust. If it were just him and Merle, he'd have felt a little more willing to do it, but something about dumping two vulnerable people into the unknown sat wrong with him.

But he'd be lying to himself if he said that it had nothing to do with the fact that it was _Sophia_ and _Carol_.

Because yeah, it was beyond the pale to leave the two of them behind without a word and without any supplies. But maybe he could have done it. Maybe Merle could have talked him into it. Maybe he'd have been fool enough to go along with it, because being a piece of shit with his piece of shit brother was a path he'd taken a hundred times before. 

But Sophia, with her waving fists and mellow cries and soft, sweet smile, dug her chubby little fingers into him. And Carol, fierce and tough and smart and even slightly intimidating - all the while smirking and teasing and gentle and trusting - impressed the hell out of him. And he wasn't a man impressed easily.

He hadn't missed the signals, either, long before she opened up; he pieced together fairly quickly that Carol's life before all this somehow wasn't all that unlike his, in some respects. Most of it different as day and night, sure, without a doubt, but at its core? Something he'd never wish upon anyone. Let alone someone like her.

He's not an idiot, much as anyone might think just by looking at him. He knows how to repress and deny. How to stuff down all the shit he never wants to think about. How to pretend everything's just fine and avoid introspection like the plague, as it were.

But she'd forced too much of it to the surface, faster than he'd ever wanted - ever _expected_ , seeing as how he'd been more or less successful at drifting along with his mind shut off for the last few decades. 

And as much as he might try, it's harder to ignore something that's so unfamiliar to him. He can ignore the scars on his body just fine - the invisible ones in his head even easier - but he has no idea what to do with the confusing, tangled, bundle of _something_ that he's only experienced in the last few months. And it comes more and more often than he'd like to admit. Has become harder and harder to tamp down.

Partly because he's unpracticed at pretending whatever _it_ is away.

Partly because he keeps finding himself more willing to wonder what _it_ is. _Why_ it is. Where it came from. What it means.

And right now, as much as he'd like to deny it, _it_ is hitting him over the head with a goddamn sledgehammer.

She must see something in his face, because she's inching closer.

And something must click for him, too, because although he's fighting the instinct to jump out the window, he's surprised to realize that he's _waiting_.

 _Expecting_.

Even something that feels dangerously like _hoping_.

She nudges the tip of her nose against his, and he feels her lips ghost across his.

She pulls back, just far enough for him to see the wary hesitation on her face clear as day - he knows she's wondering if she read him wrong, if she ruined it, if he'll run off again, if -

Yeah, maybe he wants to run off again, but in all the time she's known him, she's rarely read him wrong.

He's already waited too long, though, and her face is quickly shutting down, and he knows that if he doesn't do anything now, that's it. That's the end. She'll go, Sophia will go, and he'll be left behind. Again. 

Nobody's ever _gotten_ him the way Carol's _gotten_ him; she sees parts of him that Merle's never seen. That _Daryl's_ never seen.

He still can't bring himself to believe her - he trusts that she's telling the truth about what she sees in him, but he can't quite reconcile that with what he knows about himself.

She's smart. She's strong. She's so much more than meets the eye. She knows things about him that nobody else does, without even asking. She trusts him. And, to his surprise, he trusts her, too. More than anybody.

She said she can't lose him, but she doesn't even _know_.

 _He_ can't lose _her_. And if he lets this moment slip by, he will. No doubt about it.

So he musters up every ounce of courage he has, and brushes his fingertips across her wrist.

There's something in the way she looks at him that he can't quite parse, but it makes his insides twist, and he drops his gaze.

"Hey," she whispers, so softly he can just barely hear. "Look at me."

He swallows, hesitating for a beat too long, and flicks his eyes up to hers.

"I need you to tell me that you want this."

When it becomes clear she's not going to interpret his silence one way or another, he rasps, "Tellin' you."

A moment passes, then two, and his stomach twists again as he wonders if he played his hand, if he somehow misread the signals, if he pushed too far, if -

But she nudges her nose against his again, and this time, just after a split-second's hesitation, he kisses her back.

She brings her hands up and runs her nails gently through his hair, and he's surprised to feel goosebumps erupt on his arms.

He places his palms against the curve of her waist, and when he slowly rubs his thumbs in tiny, gentle circles along the edges of her ribcage, he feels her smile against his mouth.

They sit like that, trading sweet, chaste, slow kisses, and it's almost overwhelming. Daryl can count on one hand the number of women he's reluctantly fucked over his last thirty-odd years, and given that he's never had repeat encounters and there's been absolutely _nothing_ for a good long while, he's pretty out of practice. And even if he weren't, he'd never had anything like this - _sweet_ and _chaste_ and _slow_ has never once been used to describe Daryl Dixon in _any_ capacity, let alone in bed.

But something about her brings it out in him - brings out something he never knew was inside him, and isn't that what she's done, over and over and over again?

He _wants_ to be sweet to her, he _wants_ to be gentle with her, he _wants_ to be good _for_ _her_ , in every way that counts, even if he's not quite sure how.

And as she slides her hand along his thigh, other parts of himself begin to respond against his wishes, and his cheeks burn brighter, but she just smirks against his mouth, and her tongue brushes against his lips.

He licks right back, and when she tugs at his shoulders, he rolls on top of her, settling himself in the cradle of her thighs.

He props himself up on his forearms, and nuzzles at her neck, reveling in her smell - something light, and sweet, and just _Carol_ , and when his tongue darts out to get a taste, she exhales, hard and heavy.

As he's gathering up the courage to brush his hands against her breasts, Sophia snuffles in her sleep, and _shit_. How did he completely forget about her?

He glances towards the bassinet at the foot of the bed. "Ain't she..."

He can just barely see Carol's face in the dark, illuminated only by the slim strip of moonlight peeking through the clouds, but she rolls her eyes and scoffs at him. "Parents have been doing this in front of their children since the Stone Age, Daryl. We aren't traumatizing her. If she wakes up she won't understand what she sees."

Daryl flicks his eyes to her - she must know what she just said, right?

There's nothing but open sincerity on her face, though, mixed with a hint of anticipation, but he still hesitates. 

Carol brushes her thumb over his arrow wound, and whispers, "If you don't want to, it's fine, Daryl," and a shadow of doubt returns to her face.

He doesn't like that.

He doesn't want her to slip away, thinking something that isn't true.

He doesn't want to stop.

He _wants_. He wants in a way he's never, ever _wanted_ before.

He closes his eyes, lightly resting his forehead in the hollow of her collarbone, and brushes his lips back and forth until she weaves her fingers back into his hair, sighing softly.

His hands move almost without his permission, slipping under her shoulder blades and curling beneath her arms, and he feels every ounce of tension in her chest dissipate as she sinks deeper into the bed.

He drags his nose lower, dipping into the sweeping neckline of her blouse, and -

" _WALKERS_!"

They freeze, and Daryl whips his head towards the door, sure he's misunderstanding something. 

" _WALKERS! EVERYBODY UP!_ "

The panic in T-Dog's voice shocks Daryl to his senses, and he scrambles up off the bed. 

He holds a finger to Carol, telling her to stay where she is, and he listens at the door for the growling.

There's nothing, and when he peeks into the hallway all he sees are doors opening and Rick bounding up the stairs.

Daryl grabs his crossbow and barks, "Stay there. Gun's under my pillow," and slams the door behind him, running down to the living room.

Hershel's already loading his shotgun, and in the distance Daryl can see waves upon waves of walkers pouring onto the farm, far from the house but getting closer by the second.

Glenn's right behind him. "What's the plan?"

Andrea slings her bag across her shoulder. "We're not _staying_ here – there's no way we can fight them off."

"You can go if you want," Hershel says, and Daryl's jaw drops.

"A herd that size is gonna rip the house down! You gonna take 'em all on?"

Hershel's mouth flattens into a thin line. "We have guns. We have cars."

"So, what, we kill what we can and lead the rest off the farm?" Lori asks, and Daryl can't believe what he's hearing.

"Are you _serious_?"

"This is my farm. I'll die here."

T-Dog sighs. "All right. It's a good a night to die as any."

Daryl turns to Rick for a modicum of wisdom, but he's already loading his rifle, and it's then that Daryl knows there's no way out.

He runs back upstairs and whips open their door. "Take the gun, stay on the porch with Lori and Carl and Beth, leave Sophia up here. We're fightin'."

He holds her gaze for a moment, and she simply nods, worry clear on her face.

He can feel it in the air – the moment _calls_ for something, like some dumbass romance novel, like he's supposed to pour his heart out or say goodbye or some stupid shit, but he can hear the faint growling growing closer, and cars turn on outside.

So instead, he nods back, and runs to the front door, jumping on his bike and following Glenn and Maggie down to the horde.

They shoot for what feels like _ages_ , weaving and circling and trying to herd the walkers like cattle, but it's no use. Daryl's nearly out of ammo, and there's no way the others are doing much better.

He watches the RV topple sideways, and it's then that he knows it's over.

Daryl speeds back to the house, and Carol's nowhere to be seen.

Hershel's still gunning them down one-by-one, and Rick's pleading with him to go when he spots Daryl.

"Daryl! We gotta get out of here, come on!"

"Where the fuck's Carol?" He shouts as he rides up, and Rick shoves Carl out of the way as he shoots at a walker too close for comfort. 

"Haven't seen any of them, come _on_!"

"Ain't leavin' without her!"

" _Hershel!_ "

Daryl takes another one out, and as he's frantically looking around, he hears Sophia screaming near the barn.

The sense of relief is quickly overshadowed by panic at the sight of walkers converging on Carol.

" _Carol!_ _RUN!_ " He bellows, but there's no way she can hear him over the deafening cacophony, and out of the corner of his eye he watches Rick, Carl, and Hershel pile into the pickup, and he waves them on. "Go!"

They do, without another word, and Daryl speeds over to the barn, praying he's not too late. 

Carol takes a few of the walkers out, but as he gets closer her face drops when she's out of bullets, and he shouts " _CAROL!_ " hoping he's loud enough for her to hear.

He is, and she whips her head around, sprinting towards him, Sophia wrapped against her chest, and he scoots back on the bike, motioning for her to sit in front of him.

"Hang on!"

As soon as she grips the handlebars, he leans against her back and gets the fuck out, as fast as he can.

It takes them too long to get away, weaving between the dead and debris on the road, and he follows the road for what feels like hours.

As dawn breaks, he realizes he hasn't seen a walker in miles, and pulls over.

He slows to a stop and kicks out the stand, just as Carol slumps against his chest, breathing too shallow and fast for her to take in any air.

"Hey. Hey. I gotcha. It's okay. Just breathe."

She's not crying, but her face is white, and Sophia's still screaming.

He gently guides Carol onto the ground, props her up against the bike, and cups her face in his hands, sweeping his thumbs across her cheekbones.

"Hey. Look at me. In and out. You can do it. In and out. C'mon."

Her eyes are wild with panic, and he barely knows what he's saying, but eventually, her breathing slows and her color returns. 

"Can you unwrap Sophia real quick? Think she's uncomfortable, wanna see if we can quiet her down."

Carol nods, still silent and a little dazed, but reaches for the knot with shaking hands, and Daryl helps her slowly peel away the fabric until Sophia's head is resting in his hand, and he cradles her against his chest.

"Shh, shh, I gotcha, it's okay," and there he goes again, hardly thinking about what he's saying, too preoccupied with glancing around the road. It's still empty, but probably not for long.

Miraculously, her screams slow into cries, and he absentmindedly kisses her on the head while he rocks her. "Carol. Hey. You okay?"

She's staring off at nothing, but blinks, and he watches her come back to her senses. "Yeah. No. I don't know."

"Okay. Okay. Just stay with me. How are your hands?"

She raises them up and they're slightly too shaky for Daryl's comfort. 

"Alright. We gotta make a plan."

She nods, and blurts out, "Highway."

"What?"

"The - the highway, where Maggie found you guys. I bet everyone went back there."

He blinks. "Oh, yeah. You're right. Okay. Let's go. You okay?"

"No, I - there's no way I can hold onto the bike, I was almost slipping before you stopped. My arms are buzzing."

Fuck. "Okay. Alright. Do you think you can hold on to me?"

Sophia's cries have quieted into whimpers, and Carol glances at her. "I think, but I don't want to suffocate her."

Daryl chews on his lip for a moment. "Okay. Gimme the wrap, strap her to me."

"You know how?"

"No."

Carol flashes a smirk at him, and although it's faint and shaky, he's sagging with relief. "Alright, I'll do it. Just hold her against your chest like this, turn to the side."

He shrugs off his jacket and hands it to her. "Gonna be too bulky."

"Yeah. Come here."

She wraps him up and slips on the jacket, and he's surprised at how secure Sophia feels against him.

"Alright. Let's get out of here. Your arms feeling better?"

Carol shakes them out and rolls her shoulders. "Yeah, should be fine."

"Okay. Lemme know if you get too shaky again and I'll pull over."

She nods, they mount the bike, and although Sophia's very quickly making her displeasure apparent, they ride along without incident. 

Eventually, the traffic snarl comes into sight, and Carol bumps her forehead into Daryl's back.

"Just another minute," he calls, and as he pulls up he sees Rick, Carl, and Hershel standing behind a pickup.

He slows to a stop, and Carol slides off the seat, resting against an open trunk and training her eyes on Sophia, and just as everyone is hugging hello, Maggie, Glenn, T-Dog, Beth, and Lori pull up behind them.

A walker comes into view, and they agree to hit the road before it gets any worse.

\--

Daryl leads the caravan, and after a few hours he spies a crumbling warehouse just off the street. 

Perfect timing, too, because there's a soft beep of someone's horn, and he loops back around just as everyone exits their cars.

"Out of gas," Rick says, and Daryl nods. 

"Maybe a half-mile up there's a place to stop for the night, if we can push the car up."

"Alright. I'll steer."

They roll the car up to the warehouse, and when they can't get the sharp angle of the turn just right, Daryl can see the frustration clear on Rick's face.

"Let's just leave it here. It's good to block off the path, anyway," Glenn suggests, and after a moment Rick nods.

Without a word, they park the other car to the side of the warehouse, and Daryl slowly rolls his bike through the entrance.

Daryl, Rick, and T-Dog clear the three stories, the only inhabitant being a long-decomposed walker trapped under a box too heavy to lift, and Daryl puts it out of its misery.

They silently group together in the corner of the first floor, and pull out the meager belongings they'd happen to leave behind in the cars.

Once they're settled, Maggie points out the obvious.

"Rick, both the entrances are busted through."

"I _know_ that," he snaps, and Daryl cringes. So this is where it starts. 

Thankfully, Glenn keeps his response to a glare that Rick pretends not to notice, and he rubs his face.

"We can't all fit in one car - we have to stay here for tonight. Let's take the time to regroup. I need to think things through. Does anyone know this area? At all?"

Silence is his answer, and he huffs a humorless laugh. 

"Well, then, that's it, I guess."

"What's the _plan_ , man? I think we should head to the coast, stay east."

"We don't _have_ a plan, T-Dog, that's the problem."

"I'm with T-Dog, Rick. We need a goal," Glenn ventures.

"We can't just stay on the road! We need a place to _fortify_. _Live_. Lori's _pregnant_."

"And for Sophia, too," Carol snaps, and Rick rubs the bridge of his nose.

"What do you expect to find, T-Dog? Stay in a beach house?"

Around and around and around they go, and Carol nudges Daryl with her elbow.

"Does this feel right to you?"

He shrugs. "Better than nothin', I guess," but privately, he's not so sure.

It's not just their safety that he's concerned about - Sophia's still too young to stay reliably quiet, and although she's not a fussy baby, there's no guaranteeing that staying on the move won't upset her. The book always emphasized the importance of _routine_ and _comfort_ and _consistency_ , three things that are utterly out of reach at the moment.

But it's not fair for her to have her entire life uprooted just because she had the bad luck to be born as the world was ending. It's not fair to _anyone_ , obviously, living as they do now, but they're all at least better equipped to deal with it.

Daryl doesn't want to think about what that means for Lori's kid.

Not to mention, Rick's right. Daryl might know fuck-all about pregnancy, but he feels pretty confident in assuming that the stress that comes along with the mind-numbing terror in surviving one night to the next, all the while worrying about Carl's safety too, can't be doing her any favors. 

But that's not shit anyone can control, much as Rick might try, and it's not really fair to expect him to pull a solution out of his ass only a few hours after their assumed salvation burned away. 

Eventually, they settle in for a sleepless night, curled around each other like a pack of dogs, and Rick takes watch at one end while Daryl stands at the other. 

He can feel Carol's eyes burning into the back of his neck, and for a brief moment he lets himself wonder if she's thinking about what happened before everything else... happened. 

This isn't the time for that, though, and he shakes his head to clear his mind, and stares out at the road they'd spent the last few hours driving down, hoping against hope tonight is as bad as it gets. 


End file.
